


Fields of Violet

by FindingViolet



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Levi Being Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Multi, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, Physical Abuse, Politics, Possessive Behavior, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingViolet/pseuds/FindingViolet
Summary: Paris is the key to France. The Soviets know this, and are currently marching West to take it.Daughter of a prominent member of the French Resistance, Violet Reader is hellbent on avenging her Father's death and doing whatever she can to derail the invasion of her country.Stuck in a prisoner-of-war camp behind enemy lines, she meets three people who will change her life forever.How will she fare with the fate of France resting on her shoulders?
Relationships: Levi & Reader, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader, Levi/Reader
Comments: 69
Kudos: 123





	1. No tears, Vi.

**St. Jacques, Paris - July 1940  
**

_After a deep breath, you took aim, only to be disturbed by a mosquito landing on your shooting arm. You slapped the insect with a huff and repositioned yourself, eyes fixed on the tin can atop a fence 20 meters from the barrel of your revolver. You slowed your breathing and squeezed the trigger, exhaling with satisfaction as the can somersaulted from its perch.  
_

_“You’re still making that face,” your Father chuckled. You met his gaze and frowned, he was a handsome man in his early 40s with strong features and an impressive head of golden blonde hair._

_“What face?”_

_You laughed as he imitated your concentrated expression, wrinkling his nose and closing one eye. It did look rather ridiculous but you didn’t rise to his teasing._

_“Who cares what face I make when my aim is this good?”_

_Your Father sighed, though he couldn’t help but smile, “I feel sorry for anyone who meets their end by your hand, the last thing they’ll ever see will be that stupid face!”_

_“Whatever old man. It’s your turn.”_

_You switched places and your Father began to spin the cylinder of his revolver but before he could click it back into place, the sound of an approaching vehicle caught his attention. The two of you were having shooting practice in a remote field, deep in the South Parisian countryside. You had not expected to be disturbed and your Father’s tense posture indicated that you should also be on your guard._

_“Guns away.” He spoke in a gruff voice, hurrying to his bag and laying out the contents to make it look like the two of you were enjoying a picnic in the summer sun. You joined him on the grass, hitching up your dress and shoving your revolver into your knickers.  
_

_The jeep came to a halt at the edge of the field and you gulped as two men in Soviet uniforms stepped from the vehicle._

_“Keep your mouth shut, Vi. I mean it.”  
_

_You nodded, knowing the severity of the situation you had suddenly found yourselves in._

_Your Father, Louis Reader, was a prominent member of the French resistance, the last line of defence against the ever-advancing Soviet forces tasked with occupying the entirety of mainland Europe. It had started in the late 1920s; the USSR had grown paranoid that the powers in Asia and the Americas might one day take up arms against the disjointed post-war European continent. They claimed that Europe had no choice but to unite in order to position itself as the supreme global superpower. To reach such a goal, the USSR took advantage of its overwhelming military numbers and began its invasion of central Europe. At first, it had been bloody and brutal, tales of massacres in the East spread like wildfire but by the time the Soviets reached France in 1939, their forces were spread thin and the French government had agreed to a gradual surrender in an attempt to prevent further atrocities. This had allowed the Resistance time to mobilise, though their impact had so far been limited. Louis and his ex-military comrades had set up an extensive weapons smuggling operation; arming the Resistance was imperative if they were to stand any chance at preventing the occupation of France._

_“Oi!”_

_“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Your Father flashed a fake smile as the officers approached. “Lovely weather we’re having.”_

_“What is your business here?”_

_“Just enjoying a picnic with my daughter, would you like a drink?”_

_The older-looking officer scoffed, adjusting the oval-shaped glasses on his nose before continuing in broken French.  
_

_“We don’t need anything from you. This area is under curfew, break it and you will be arrested.”  
_

_“Of course, we’ll be leaving soon, we don’t live far.”  
_

_The officer nodded and began walking back to the jeep. Your Father offered you a reassuring smile, though it quickly fell from his face when he clocked the younger officer looking intently at a piece of paper and nudging his senior._

_“Remember what I taught you.” Your Father murmured, “I think this might be the end of the line for me. Don’t give them any reason to kill you.”  
_

_Your breath hitched in your throat as the officers drew their weapons.  
_

_“I love you.” Was all you could manage to whisper._

_“Louis Reader, on your feet!” The older officer barked, automatic rifle now pointed at your Father’s head._

_Raising his arms in surrender, your Father chuckled. “I think you are mistaken, Sir. My name is Victor.”  
_

_“Shut your mouth, traitor. Stand and take this bullet like a man or I’ll kill your daughter too.”  
_

_You winced, frozen on the spot. You’d always known this day might come but that didn’t stop your chest from feeling like it was collapsing in on itself. Your Father hauled himself to his feet, dusting off his trousers and joining his hands behind his back._

_“No tears, Vi. Stay strong.” Your Father said, his voice gentle and unwavering. “I pass on my will to you. I love you and I’m so proud of you.” He turned to wink at you and lowered his voice. “Just make sure your revenge is sweet.”  
_

_You opened your mouth to reply but the words stuck in your throat. All you could do was nod and hold back the tears that threatened to spill.  
_

_“Any last words, traitor?” The older officer snapped._

_“Long Live the Resistance!”_

_The bullet whistled through the air in slow motion but the minute it punctured your Father’s skull, reality came crashing down. You felt hollow, numb, as though you no longer existed as a physical being. Your vision was a blur and your brain struggled to comprehend what you had just witnessed. Your Father was dead and you were alone. The Soviets had murdered him in front of you and now you would be their prisoner.  
_

_Those feelings of emptiness were quickly replaced with violent rage; a fury so vicious, it ignited every cell in your body. The blaze spreading through your body was so wild, you were surprised you didn’t spontaneously combust on the spot. Taking one final glance at your Father’s corpse, you swore on every holy scripture you knew of that one day you’d get your revenge. You’d dedicate yourself to the Resistance, no matter what the Soviets did to you, the fire in your belly would not be extinguished._

_“You’re coming with us, traitor.” The younger officer approached with a vicious snarl, “I’m going to make you wish you were never born.”_

**Soviet Military Camp, Besançon, Dijon - February 1941**

You shot up, covered in goosebumps and skin laced with sweat. Another nightmare.

The straw mattress beneath you felt particularly lumpy and as you stretched out your knackered limbs, a deep ache began to spread across your shoulder blades. With a sigh, you swung your legs over the side of your cot, inspecting the purple bruise decorating your right thigh. You added another strike to the mental tally; keeping track of the bruises and marks Reiner left on your body helped keep the fire within you burning. You’d get him back, eventually. 

You took a quick look around the dormitory. Sleeping cots lined the walls but only four of them, including yours, were occupied. There weren’t many female prisoners at the camp, the Soviets held a rather patriarchal view of society and therefore didn’t view women as enough of a threat to warrant keeping them captive. Except you of course, as the daughter of a senior member of the Resistance, you’d earned yourself a spot. Your roommates were still asleep and a glance at the clock above the door informed you it was 7:30 am. You weren’t expected to be up for another half an hour but there was no point going back to sleep. You’d rather have the bathhouse to yourself anyway. 

The Camp had originally been a wealthy family farm, converted by the Soviets to serve as a multipurpose headquarters. It was encompassed by a barbed fence, with two manned security towers keeping an ever-watchful eye on the gates. The manor house served as the main building for the Soviet officers charged with wardening the East part of Dijon. There were two barns turned dormitories, a shared bathhouse, and a supply shed which was home to the tools the male prisoners used to farm the land. There were approximately fifteen male captives who worked the surrounding fields; the four female prisoners worked in the manor house kitchens, preparing meals and managing the laundry. Occasionally, the women were also tasked with administrative jobs in the offices.

You felt slight relief from the warm spray of the shower, it helped soothe your aching muscles. Reiner had given you an especially wicked beating the night before but you were used to his sadism by now. He was a nasty piece of work and the higher-ups turned a blind eye to his tyrannical nature; ever since that day, he’d treated you like his personal plaything, beating and humiliating you as he pleased. 

You’d been at the camp for eight months now, mostly keeping to yourself and absorbing every nugget of intelligence you could. The Soviets had interrogated you aggressively when you first arrived but you had successfully convinced them you knew nothing of your Father’s traitorous behaviour. The ignorant officers hadn’t considered the possibility that you might understand Russian and spoke without restraint in your presence, they clearly underestimated both your Father and the Resistance. You had discovered your natural aptitude for languages during school where you had been taught English and your Father picked up on this, insisting you learn as many as possible. You had been biding your time, hoping that an opportunity to escape might arise but your patience was running thin. The only thing keeping you from throwing yourself from the top of the manor house was your burning desire for revenge.

You’d plotted the murders of Reiner and Zeke, the officers responsible for your Father’s death, over one hundred times in your head. It was like a ritual, you visualised all of the ways you could deliver the final blow to each of them. Perhaps you’d steal a gun and storm the manor house on a suicide mission, accepting your fate but ensuring you murdered the pair of them before meeting your end. You wished you were an explosives expert, the idea of blowing the Camp to smithereens as you escaped in one of their jeeps was incredibly satisfying. If you were allowed to work on the farm, you would search for poisonous mushrooms or berries and kill the entire hoard of them in one go. 

You were snapped from your murderous daydream by the sound of someone else entering one of the shower cubicles. Your fingers had started to prune so you switched off the faucet and dried yourself off before scurrying back to the dorm. 

“Morning.” Camille waves from her cot. She was a beautiful brunette woman in her late 30s, arrested for running a black market out of Auxerre. She was witty and intelligent, you considered her a friend. 

“Hey, Camille. Sleep well?” You chirp, buttoning up your tea dress. 

Your friend snorted, “on this mattress? That’s a stupid question.” 

You offered her a half-hearted smile as you pulled on a ropey cardigan before turning to the stained mirror and combing through your damp, golden locks. You studied yourself in the reflection for a moment. Your cheeks were starting to hollow and your collar bones were visible, a result of your restricted diet as a captive. The bruising beneath your left eye had started to fade now, only a slight shadow remained. Reiner didn’t mark your face often but when he did, he made it count. You were envious of the other prisoners; despite the initial ruthlessness of the Soviet occupation, prisoners of war tended to be treated with some dignity. There was little benefit in maltreating them, they’d need to be reintegrated back into society eventually for a United Europe to prosper. Many prisoners had come and gone since you’d been at the Camp but you knew you would never be released, especially not whilst Reiner operated from the Besançon HQ. 

Your day was mostly uneventful. You spent the morning in the kitchen peeling vegetables with Camille and the afternoon washing the Officer’s bedding. If only you could get your hands on some itching powder, you mused as you hung the sheets out to dry.

“Reader.” A voice you recognise as Zeke barks from behind you. He was the senior-most officer stationed at Camp Besançon. You turn to face the man who murdered your Father. He looked as apathetic as always, with long blonde hair and a matching beard, his signature oval glasses placed precariously on his nose. “New prisoners, two male, one female. Fetch them sleepwear and a towel each. They should be at the dorms.” 

You nod. Prisoners were stripped of their belongings upon arrival and items like clothes were shared between all of you. You headed back to the laundry room and grabbed three towels before fishing through the clothing bins in search of something that might serve as suitable pyjamas. 

The new prisoners seemed to already be acquainted and you found them huddled together in between the two dormitories. You approached them and cleared your throat.

“Hi.” You offer them the garments. “Sorry if the sizing isn’t great.” 

“Hello!” The brunette woman is the first to greet you. “Thanks…” 

“Reader.” You nod. “Violet Reader.” 

“Nice to meet you, wish it was under better circumstances.” She snorts, holding up the pyjama vest to examine it. “This will do fine. Oh, and you can call me Marie.” 

You offer her a cautious smile, she seemed unbothered by her new status as a prisoner of war, which was rather odd.

“Thank you.” A younger-looking boy with a blonde bowl cut and piercing blue eyes spoke nervously as he took his folded pile. “Jules.” 

You turn to the final man who reluctantly accepts his new clothes, making no effort to hide his repugnance. His face was stoic, features sharp, with neatly styled raven hair. 

He clicks his tongue. “Disgusting.” 

You shrug, he’s clearly not used to roughing it. 

“Don’t mind Lucien, he’s a miserable old man.” Marie interjects with a sweet smile.

You open your mouth to respond but are stopped in your tracks. Sensing a presence behind you, your eyes widen, a warning to the new prisoners. You try to gesture for them to walk away as subtly as possible but your attempts are futile.

“What do we have here?” A strong arm wraps around your neck from behind, the new prisoners look on in confusion. Of course Reiner would seek you out, you would normally be in the common room by now, serving the officer’s drinks. “There’s no one to pour my beer, are you trying to make me angry?” 

You sigh, “Zeke asked me to bring the new prisoners some clothes.”

“Hm.” He hisses into your ear. “Get on with it then, I’ll be waiting.” 

With that, he retracts his arm from your neck and storms off. The new prisoners look bewildered but you offer up your hands. 

“If I can give you one piece of advice, stay away from him.” You smile meekly. “He’s insane.” 

You say your goodbyes to the new prisoners and hurry to the manor house. Partly because explaining Reiner’s freakish obsession with you to the newbies would be a pain but mostly because if you kept him waiting any longer, he’d no doubt make you regret it.


	2. Quite The Linguist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING***
> 
> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS PHYSICAL ABUSE & EXPLICIT THREATS OF RAPE, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH EITHER OF THESE TOPICS!!!
> 
> Hello,
> 
> Here's chapter 2, the story is going to pick up quite quickly from here so strap yourselves in!
> 
> Enjoy :)

A few days had passed since the arrival of the new prisoners and you'd come to realise that Marie was rather strange. She was easily the most talkative of all the women at the Camp, a trait that Camille appreciated the most. Eloise and Madeline kept their distance. They were elderly women, arrested for stealing food from Soviet wagons. The two of them were up for release soon having almost completed their two-month sentences. 

You quite liked the excitable nature of your new campmate, she seemed utterly un-phased by her current circumstances, which piqued your interest. She was like a breath of fresh air and you’d grown to appreciate her vibrant, slightly deranged personality. The two of you were currently in the laundry room ironing the officer's uniforms. Marie was babbling on about how she'd already gotten into trouble with Zeke for helping herself to an extra portion at lunch but you weren’t really listening, you couldn't help but notice something off about the way she spoke.

“Where are you from, Marie?”

She turns to you with a raised brow. “Nevers, why do you ask?”

"I don't mean to be rude, it's just that you have a strange accent."

"Quite the linguist?”

You felt your face flush. It wasn't as though you were able to pinpoint her dialect, you just had an inkling that French might not be her mother tongue.

"I had an English nanny." She eyes you intently, gauging your reaction. "My parents travelled around a lot for work so she practically raised me.”

"I see.” 

"What gave it away?" She asks, folding the final pair of trousers.

"The way you pronounce your r's is rather odd," you shrug.

Marie found this hilarious and her laugh was ridiculously contagious, you struggled to stifle your own giggles in response.

"So can you speak English then?”

"As you said, I'm quite the linguist.”

"That is interesting, how many languages can you speak?”

"Five." You answer with a smug grin. "French, English, Spanish, German and Russian." You pause, mentally kicking yourself. "Don't tell anyone that please, the officers speak carelessly around me because they do not know. I'd like to keep it that way.”

"Your secret is safe with me.” She offers you a genuine smile. “So how does a girl that can speak five languages find herself in a Soviet prisoner camp?”

You ponder over how much to tell her, nobody else at the Camp knew the reason for your arrest. There was something about Marie though, she seemed trustworthy and her disregard for the Soviet Occupation had been obvious since her arrival. She might make a good ally.

"I'm a traitor,” you admit.

"Resistance?"

You nod, not wanting to disclose any further details. "What about you?”

"Forgery of identity documents." She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Where are you from, Reader?”

“Paris."

"That's where we were trying to go before the Cranks caught us.”

You smirk at the familiar slang used by the French to describe the Soviets. "Haven't heard that term in a while.”

Marie sniggers and places a hand on your shoulder. "I like you, Reader. Come on, let's get these put away so we can have an early lunch.”

…

The rest of your day was boring and you were relieved come the time for your evening shower. Prisoners at the camp worked from 8am-4.30pm and were provided with two meals a day, albeit they usually consisted of the officer's leftovers. You spent most of your evenings serving beer in the common room, much to your displeasure, though it was an excellent opportunity for you to earwig on the officer's conversations.

You usually took your evening shower around 5pm because it meant you had the bathhouse to yourself; though this time, as you stepped from the cubicle wrapped in only a towel, you were not.

"Gaah!"

Lucien was hunched over the sink, wringing out his shirt. His body was slim but incredibly toned with broad shoulders and a couple of noteworthy scars decorating his marble-like skin.

He looks up from the basin and rolls his eyes dramatically. 

"Tch. Don't flatter yourself.”

You scowl at him, reaching for the dress you'd hung over the drying rack.

"That's a nasty bruise." He observes, eyes wandering from your face to your exposed thighs.

"I've had worse.”

He clicks his tongue. “Is the abuse of prisoners a common thing here?”

You shake your head, keeping your eyes glued to the floor.

"I see." He mutters, turning back to the sink to give you some much needed privacy.

You change in hurry, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of your dress clinging to your still damp skin. You exit the bathhouse feeling incredibly flustered, you weren't a prude by any means but you certainly weren't prepared for such an encounter. It had actually pissed you off a bit, though you weren't entirely sure why. Your cheeks burned red as you recalled the way his eyes had trawled over your body. Perhaps he was simply interested to know whether he should expect a beating or two himself, or maybe he wanted to warn Marie and Jules seeing as they were clearly familiar with one another. Regardless, you felt somewhat intruded upon and it had put you in a foul mood. To make matters worse, Reiner was the only officer drinking in the common room that evening.

"Hurry up, traitor.”

You do as instructed, wincing as a firm hand slaps your behind as you bend to pour the beer. You add another strike to your mental tally. Reiner was a borderline alcoholic, he spent almost every evening drinking himself into oblivion regardless of whether any of the other officers joined him. You serve his beer in silence, knowing full well that backchat would only result in more brutal punishment. His sadism made you feel nauseous. None of the other officers cared for abuse, if anything, having to guard prisoners was a bother. They were under orders from the higher-ups to maintain prison camps as a deterrent, as well as a method of keeping the Resistance divided. 

Camp Besançon was relatively small compared to the others dotted around France, you'd often hear the officers discussing stories of prisoner riots at other Camps. You wished you'd been sent to such a place but given your status, you'd been taken from Paris to Dijon, an area solely occupied by the Soviets in an attempt to discourage any reprisals from the Resistance after your Father’s murder. You doubted anyone from the Resistance even knew you were alive, they'd no doubt have found out about your Father, the Soviets made a point of spreading propaganda about the futility of rebellion.

Reiner was on his sixth beer of the evening and looked more riled up than usual. You were observing from a distance, reorganising the bottles of alcohol in the bookshelf that served as a bar. He stumbles towards you, crashing into the chairs that blocked his path. His eyes were hazed in a drunken mist and there was an evil smirk plastered across his face. He slams you back into the wall and his hand crawls into your hair, forming a vice grip. He rips your head backwards, forcing you to meet his glare. You stare back at him, eyes full of hatred. You were tempted to grab one of the bottles and smash it over his head but you doubted he’d even feel it in his current state.

Reiner licks his lips, "I warned you I would make you regret the day you were born.”

You cringe, his breath smelt foul.

"We received some interesting news today." He rambles, his French was awful and his intoxication only made it more difficult to comprehend. He snakes his free hand around your neck, his grip harsh and possessive. "You dumb bitch, in a few weeks' time, there'll be no one here to stop me.”

You gulp, eyes wide with fear. What was he talking about? There was no way the senior officers would leave him in charge, they were very aware of his problems with alcohol as well as his imbalanced mental state.

"That's right," he tightens his grip around your throat, completely closing the airway. His eyes are wild, devouring you like a piece of meat. “I'm going to fuck you bloody and no matter how much you scream, nobody will be there to hear you. I bet you're a virgin too but I won't hold back, you can count on that.”

You rasp, struggling to hide how scared his words make you feel. He'd never touched you in that way, probably out of fear of getting you pregnant and the senior officers discovering his perversions. The Soviets frowned upon sex outside of wedlock. The idea of him touching you in such an intimate way made your stomach turn, there's no way you'd let him have you. You'd kill him or yourself before he got the chance. His abuse had always been physical, though you’d always had a creeping suspicion it was deeply rooted in lust.

"Would you like that?" He sneers down at you. "Would you like me to split you in half?”

You glower at him as best you can through teary eyes. His face was etched with malice and the words tumble from his mouth, dripping with poison.

"Maybe I'll squirt a child in you, let it grow until it's almost ready, then murder the both of you." He snarls before sinking his teeth into your exposed clavicle. 

You yelp with the last of your breath as his teeth puncture your skin. Vision blurring, you wriggle and squirm in a pathetic attempt to get him to release his grip. He wasn't trying to kill you, you knew that his carnal desire to have you would prevent him from doing so. White spots dance in front of your eyes and a choking sound escapes from your throat. Reluctantly, Reiner releases his clutch and you collapse at his feet, coughing and spluttering in an attempt to refill your desperate lungs. He leaves you in a heap on the floorboards without another word. You surmised he was retreating to his room to relieve himself, the sick bastard.

Now that you were alone, you allowed the tears to fall. You weren’t sure what Reiner meant when he said there’d be no one to stop him, you needed answers and fast. You also needed a plan. 

Overwhelmed by a mixture of fear and determination, you got to your feet, dusted yourself off, and made your way back to the dorms. Marie was the only one awake when you finally slump onto your bed, mind ticking over at 100 mph. 

“You okay?” She whispers from the neighbouring cot.

You nod, turning your back to her and huddling under your blanket. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep but the idea of discussing your most recent encounter with Reiner made your chest feel tight. Weighing up your options, you figured you would need help if you were going to escape and Marie was probably your best bet. The other female prisoners had release dates coming up and you doubted any of them would be up for a potentially dangerous mission. Marie, on the other hand, was intelligent and quick-witted, she looked physically strong too. Her distaste for the Soviets was also a bonus and the fact she’d been arrested for forging documents was another supporting factor, you’d need them in order to travel back to Paris and seek out the Resistance, or what was left of it. 

You suddenly realised you had little understanding of the current state of your country. When you’d been arrested, the Soviets had reached Paris but struggled to hold it. The officers at the Camp rarely discussed the overall progress of the war, their concerns were always much more local. You sigh, flipping onto your back and searching the barn ceiling for answers. Finding out more about what Reiner meant was your top priority. There were two potential scenarios that would warrant such a threat; either the battle for Paris was still going on and the senior officers were required as back up or alternatively, the battle for Paris had been won and Camp Besançon was no longer necessary as an Eastern HQ. Both scenarios would likely leave you trapped with Reiner, whether it was here or at another camp. Your mind wandered to one of the conversations you’d overheard in the common room, one officer had mentioned that when Paris was won, it was likely that the Eastern-most Camps would move West. Perhaps it was your bias speaking, but you doubted the Soviets would have managed to completely occupy Paris in only eight months. The French capital was a Resistance stronghold and they’d been preparing for their enemy's arrival for over a year; if Paris had in fact fallen, and you somehow managed to escape the Camp, you weren’t sure where you’d go. You could head South and try your luck getting into Spain but crossing the Pyrenees would be practically impossible. 

Sometime before drifting off, you decided that murdering Zeke and Reiner and going out in a blaze of glory was the most appealing option at your disposal. If you couldn’t find any co-conspirators, you’d kill as many Cranks as you could before putting a bullet in your brain. 

…

The next evening, a Friday, was the perfect opportunity for you to gather more information from the officers. The common room was teeming with Cranks, all of them drinking themselves silly. Reiner was avoiding you, perhaps he was embarrassed that his drunken brashness had let slip a potentially vital piece of intelligence. You served the officers their beer, keeping your ears to the ground, desperate for any details that might aid in your plotting.

You couldn’t ignore the anxiety gnawing in your chest. Reiner scared you, though you’d never let him know it. Now that he’d confirmed his twisted desires for your body, you felt more desperate to escape than ever. You’d endured the physical abuse, determined not to show any weakness but the thought of his hands on you in a sexual manner made you shudder.

The weapons were kept in a locked storage room on the top floor of the manor house, a few doors down from Zeke’s office. Officers were permitted automatic rifles on their patrols, and the Cranks guarding the watchtowers were also armed. You were somewhat familiar with the patrol patterns, the officers did half-day shifts with a changeover at lunchtime. The watchtowers that stood either side of the entrance gate were manned in 12-hour shifts, with a changing of the guard at 7 each morning and evening. Getting your hands on a copy of the monthly patrol rota would be incredibly useful, finding a key to the weapons room would be even better. 

Your scheming was interrupted as one of the senior officers called for a refill. You nodded and refilled your jug from the beer barrel before doing the rounds.

“What about the prisoners?” 

Your ears pricked as one officer rambled in harsh Russian. You poured his drink extra slowly. 

“Not my problem. If we’ve got to be there before the last week of April, they’ll probably be moved in a few weeks.” The second officer shrugged.

“What a pain.” 

Got to be where? You wonder as you retreat behind the bar. It was mid-February, if the officers were moving out by the end of April, that left around a month for them to relocate the prisoners - or more importantly, for you to escape. You could try and slip away en-route to a new camp but you’d run the risk of being taken further away from Paris. Moreover, you doubted you'd be taken in the first place, Reiner must have convinced the higher-ups to keep you here, further away from the Resistance. You felt incredibly smug that you now had a clearer timeline in which to formulate a plan, though you wished you had a little longer to scout out potential partners in crime. 

You spent the rest of the week doing just that. 

You had already identified Marie as the most likely candidate; you didn’t know any of the male prisoners well enough to consider them and you could only hope Marie’s relationship with the two she arrived with was casual enough not to include them. Peeling potatoes was a dull job so you decided it was time to test the waters.

“Who are the guys you arrived with?” You ask Marie, who was stood opposite you, working through a mound of carrots. 

“They’re from the same town as me, we grew up together.” She explains with a thoughtful sigh.

“I see.” You hum. That wasn’t the answer you were hoping for. “Why were you trying to get to Paris?” 

Marie turns from her pile of vegetables and gives you an inquisitive look, one eyebrow raised in a sharp arch. 

“The Cranks finally managed to tame Nevers, we didn’t fancy sticking around so we thought we’d try our luck linking up with the Resistance in Paris.” 

“You wouldn’t have had much luck.” You meet her gaze. “They’re not easy to find.” 

“We figured as much but staying in Nevers was out of the question.” Marie put down her peeler and leaned forward over the bench. “Say, Reader. Would you know how to find them?” 

There was no doubt in your mind that she was testing you. Your senses were electrified, your suspicions about Marie had been correct. She may not be part of the Resistance, but she was certainly involved in some sort of anti-occupation group. You knew you needed to be careful, there was always a chance that she was in fact a Soviet espionage operative, getting close to you in an attempt to gather intelligence.

You flash your most innocent smile. “It’s been a long time since I was in Paris.” 

“I see.” Marie chuckles before turning back to her work. “As far as I am aware, Paris remains free. Did you know that?”

You shake your head. She was feeding you crumbs and assessing your reactions, it felt exhilarating.

“That's good news. I hope to go back soon.”

It was a risky move but you had nothing to lose. If you were going to ask for her help to escape, you had to give her something. 

“Are you being released soon?” She asks.

You shake your head once more but make no effort to hide your mischievous smile, hoping Marie would catch on without making you spell it out for her. She does, her eyes widen with intrigue and she once again neglects her carrots and leans towards you. 

“I understand.” She speaks in a low voice, “I think we might be able to help each other, Reader. I like you and you’ve been through enough here. I think we should work together.” 

“I was thinking the same.” You reply, “I already have a plan.” 

“Reader.” Marie’s tone was more serious now. “You can trust me, please tell me everything.” 

“I was an associate of the Resistance, that’s how I ended up here. I need to escape within the next month or so.”

You didn’t want to tell her about your Father, opting to keep any details about your life prior to imprisonment vague. You’d tell her eventually, when the time was right. 

Marie nods, “and you have a plan?” 

“It’s not perfect but I think I might be able to swipe a key to the weapon storage room.” You eye her nervously, unease creeping through your body. “I haven’t had much time to plan anything seriously, Reiner threatened me last week and I don’t have much time.” 

Marie's expression changes from inquisitive to sympathetic, “what did he say?”

“That he’s going to rape me.” You spit the words out and they leave a vile taste in your mouth.

Marie inhales sharply, before reaching across the bench and placing a hand on yours. “I’m glad to hear that he hasn’t done so already, I was worried he might have, given the nature of the marks he leaves on you. I’ll do what I can to prevent it from happening but your plan is…” 

“I know.” You cut in, squeezing her hand. “I overheard the officers last week, they’re being redeployed somewhere. I don’t know where. All I know is that they’ve got to be somewhere by the last week of April and that the prisoners will either be released or relocated before then.” 

Marie knits her brows together and leans back, bringing the hand that was on yours up to her chin. She ponders for a moment and silence creeps between you. 

“That certainly changes things but it’s good that we have a timeline. I think it’s highly likely the Cranks are gearing up for another assault on Paris. They retreated about two months ago to lick their wounds. Paris is the key to the rest of France, if they take it…”

“I know.” You cut in, emotions swirling. “I can’t let that happen.” 

Silence falls between the two of you once more. 

“You’re going to stop them on your own?” 

“If I have to.” 

“What about your parents?” Marie asks tentatively. "Are there people in Paris that know you are here?" 

You shake your head. Your Mother had died during childbirth, it had always just been you and your Father.

“Okay.” Marie exhaled. “Give me some time, we’ll get out of here.” 

“Don’t tell anyone, please.” You plead, making no effort to hide the desperation in your voice.

Marie nods before returning to her mound of vegetables. You hoped you had done the right thing by telling her and could only pray that she’d keep your plan to herself. 

None of the officers were drinking in the common room that night, which meant you got to enjoy a rare evening to yourself. You felt slightly anxious that Reiner might be lurking around the manor house waiting to corner you but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the officers were having a meeting to discuss whatever it was that was coming up. You ate with the rest of the prisoners and enjoyed light conversation with Marie and Camille. There was a bite to the air that evening and you made a point of stopping by the laundry room to fetch some thicker knitwear for yourself and the other women. The earth crunched beneath your boots and you longed for some sunshine. Your heart ached for past summers spent in Provence with your Father. You’d holidayed there regularly growing up and he had told you that the lavender fields were the inspiration for your name. According to him, your Mother had adored the smell of lavender and had begged your Father to take her to visit the fields of violet in the South. He’d agreed and after seeing the purple hills for himself, they’d agreed that should they ever have a daughter, she would be named Violet. Despite never meeting your Mother, you and your Father had kept up the tradition almost every summer in her honour. When the Soviets arrived and travel was no longer permitted, he still made the point of gifting you lavender oil as a birthday present each year. You yearned for the sweet smell and as you lay in your cot that night, you decided the first thing you would do should you return to Paris was find a perfume stall and buy yourself a bottle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments are welcome and encouraged :)
> 
> Chapter 3 will be up soon...


	3. Listen, Brat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 3.
> 
> Enjoy!

You were pulled from your slumber by the sensation of someone standing next to your cot but before your eyes could adjust to the darkness and assess what was happening, you felt a hand close over your mouth. You panic, writhing and squirming in an attempt to wriggle free. 

"Shh!" Whispers a female voice, "I'll let go, just be quiet."

You nod, instantly relaxing when you realise it was Marie and not Reiner as you had feared. She was looming over you with a wicked glint in her eyes, what could she possibly want at this time? Slowly, she removes her hand from your mouth and allows you some oxygen. She doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to wake any of the other female prisoners, she gestures for you to follow her with her hand. 

You sit up in your cot and watch her disappear out of the door. You fumble for your boots, eyes still not accustomed to the dark. Marie was waiting outside the barn and once she was sure the coast was clear, she darts across the yard to the bathhouse. You follow clumsily, still half asleep. 

"Marie, what the hell have you dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night for?" You whisper shout as you follow her inside, only to find more people than you'd expected.

In the dim light of a single oil lamp, you spot Jules, leaning against a sink with a nervous look on his face. His hair was messy and you assumed he'd also been dragged here without warning. Lucien was sat on an upturned crate against the far wall of the bathhouse with his legs crossed, chin resting in his palm. His hair looked immaculate despite the late hour and it hung loosely over his eyes, you couldn't quite read his expression. 

"So, Reader." He begins, in a leisurely tone. "Marie tells me you're up to no good." 

You scowl at her. You didn't know the nature of their relationship but you felt betrayed, she’d clearly not kept your plan a secret. It would be much harder to escape in a big group.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Lucien clicks his tongue in annoyance, "she's told me all about your little escape plan." 

“What's it to you?” You hiss, rolling your eyes.

You were trying to play it cool but underneath, you were furious. How dare Marie breach your confidence like this? And what was Lucien's problem? His nonchalant aura quickly dissipates; he uncrosses his legs and leans forwards, hands clasped together.

"You're a troublesome brat, aren't you?" He makes no effort to hide the condescending tone in his voice. "Tell me, why do you want to escape?" 

You give Marie a confused look before answering. 

"I thought Marie had told you all about my little escape plan?" 

Marie shakes her head apologetically, she'd clearly left out some of the details. Lucien nods in her direction, prompting an explanation. 

"I'm really sorry, Reader. I know I promised to keep my mouth shut but your plan jeopardises ours. I didn't tell them about Reiner or the reason for your arrest, I thought you'd rather explain that yourself." 

You knit your brows together. Cogs begin to turn in your head. Just who are these people and what are they up to? 

Lucien interrupts your contemplation. "So?"

"If I don't get out of here in the next month, Reiner is going to rape and probably murder me." Your voice shakes but relief floods through you as you unburden the anxiety that had built up over the past week. "He's beaten and humiliated me every day since I got here. I'm going to steal a gun, kill him, and try to escape. If I can't, I'll kill myself." 

You hadn't realised that you'd started crying until you could taste the salt on your lips. Swiping at your face profusely, you attempt to regain your composure.

"I don't know what you guys are up to. In fact, I don't care. If you try and stop me, I'll put bullets in your brains too." 

The three of them stare at you for a while, each of their faces painting a very different picture. Marie looks amused and Jules' jaw hangs open in shock. Lucien pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Leave us." He orders.

Marie and Jules scuttle out of the bathhouse, making it very clear to you who was in charge. He approaches, his posture was tense, you can see a prominent vein protruding from his neck. Despite feeling intimidated by the dark-haired man, you stand your ground. He stops with his face inches from yours. You stare him down and even though the light is limited, you’re able to appreciate his good looks. 

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't strangle you right here, right now, smash that mirror, and use the shards to slit your wrists to make it look like a suicide?"

You gulp. He wasn't as tall and broad as Reiner but he was still much bigger than you. You size him up nonetheless, you'd sparred with your Father and some of the other boys in the Resistance plenty of times, though you'd lost a lot of your muscle since arriving at the Camp. Your mind flashed back to the time you'd seen him shirtless and you concluded that Lucien would have no trouble restraining you if he wished. 

Despite the threat, he keeps his hands to himself. 

"Because whatever you're planning, I bet I can help." The words fall from your mouth before your brain has time to approve them. "There's no one else in this camp that hears the officer's conversations or knows the layout of the manor house as well as I do." 

Lucien's eyebrow twitches, ever so slightly, but it doesn’t go a miss by you.

"I'll help you with whatever it is you're doing, if you help me escape.” 

You felt rather proud of yourself for offering such a good bargain despite coming up with it on the spot. 

"What makes you think we're interested in escaping?"

“You want to stay here? Be my guest.” You snort, confidence floods back into your body. "I'm not an idiot. You were arrested for identity document fraud, which tells me you're from the Resistance or some other organisation. Commoners wouldn't have the guts nor the tools to attempt something like that." 

Lucien's eyes search your face for something, though you’re not sure what. 

"What do you know of the Resistance?" He asks curtly.

"I don't know that I can trust you. For all I know, my assessment is incorrect and you're actually friends of Reiners, sent here to help me plot an escape just for him to catch me at the last minute and drag me back here kicking and screaming." 

"Smart girl."

Lucien takes a few steps back, his demeanor switching to one of calm. He pushes his hands into his pockets and gives you a once over.

"Here's what's going to happen." He explains bluntly. "You're going to do exactly what I say, no questions asked. If you can prove to me that you are trustworthy, I'll get you out of here before that lecherous oaf can get his hands on you. Deal?"

You frown, "and if I refuse?" 

"Why would you do that? Your plan is flawed and will no doubt end in your death." 

"There's nothing wrong with my pla-" You begin to argue but Lucien waves his hand.

"Listen, brat." He hisses. "Fix your attitude. I promise that I will get you out of here if you can help get me the information I need. It's that simple." 

"What information?" 

Lucien waves his hand again, disregarding your question.

"We've been out of bed too long. Go back to your dorm, meet me here tomorrow night, same time. Keep your ears to the ground in the meantime." 

Even though you know he’s right, you scowl at him before turning on your heels and returning to your cot. Marie was still awake but you ignore her questioning eyes, you'd scold her tomorrow.

Your mind was racing and it kept you awake for hours. Just who were these people? They couldn’t be from the Resistance, they’d surely have recognised your last name if they were. Your Father was well known throughout the entire organisation. Of course, there was the possibility that they were acting independently. Joining the Resistance was pretty impossible unless you knew a member or were scouted by one. You weren’t aware of any other organisations by name but you had no doubts that they existed, acting in tandem with the official body. 

There was something about Lucien too, specifically the way he'd promised to help you. It was as if he understood your desperation and had gone against his better judgment to include you in his plans. Perhaps it was the way his stormy eyes had bore into your own, searching your soul, determining whether it was worth saving. The voice in your head reprimanded you for romanticising the exchange; he needed you in order to execute his own plan and your position within the manor house was the only reason he had considered collaborating. You didn’t need him to save you, you were already plotting to save yourself. You’d survived this long on your own and you weren’t about to let your guard down because a handsome mystery man had deemed you useful. The minute you were back in free territory, you’d be on your way.

…

The day dragged by at an alarmingly slow pace but you were looking forward to meeting up with Lucien that night. The prospect of escape had become more realistic and you allowed yourself to revel in the excitement. The way he had confidently promised that he would get you out was enough for you, a ray of hope in what had been a dull and depressing eight months. 

Reiner was drinking with Bertolt that evening. The dark-haired officer had always treated you pleasantly and you could tell he felt disgruntled by Reiner’s perverse behaviour. He tried his best to keep the brutish blonde’s attention away from you but he failed miserably. You were grateful nonetheless. 

You emptied your jug into their glasses, paying no mind to the lascivious glint in Reiner’s eyes. 

“You’re so lucky.” He drawls in Russian. “You’ll get to shoot some traitors, I’m jealous.” 

“I’d much rather stay here, the Parisian bastards are stubborn, it’s definitely not going to be easy.” Bertolt scoffs.

“I wish I was going but at least I’ll have this one to warm my bed.” He bellows, gesturing to you. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since I first set eyes on her.” 

You cringe from behind the bar, keeping your back to the conversation but listening intently. 

“I thought the prisoners were being moved West?” Bertolt asks before downing the last of his drink.

“They are but I convinced Zeke to keep that one here, said it was too risky to move her any closer to Paris. Plus, they’re only taking half the prisoners. The rest will be released. I think we should execute the lot of them. ” 

Bertolt was silent for a minute, seemingly digesting the information. “I see.” Was all he said before standing up and approaching you to return his now empty glass.

You accept it with a smile and he gives you a thoughtful look. It clearly made him uncomfortable knowing what Reiner was planning. He’d always seemed more gentle than the other officers. Whenever you were drafted in to help in the administrative office, he’d sneak you meat sandwiches at lunchtime, which you’d greedily accept. Bertolt bid Reiner good night and left the common room soon after, leaving you alone with the monster. 

He bumbles towards you, as he so often did in his inebriated state. You brace yourself, ready to add more strikes to your mental tally. 

“Such a compliant little traitor.” He coos in French, reaching for a lock of your hair and twisting it between his fingers. “I wonder how obedient you’ll be for me.” 

You roll your eyes, which earns you a sharp slap across the face. You wince at the contact but daren’t let him see any emotion in your expression. You take the dirty glasses and place them in the washbasin, ignoring the barbarian stood before you. 

“I hate it when you ignore me.”

His voice was almost whiney and he sounded pathetic. He reaches for your face, making you flinch but you reluctantly meet his gaze.

“That’s better.” He mumbles, grasping your jaw. “Let me see that pretty face of yours.”

You look straight through him and retreat within your mind. You visualise him strapped to the wall, bleeding and crying, as you throw knives at him from across the room. You’d always enjoyed throwing knives, your Father had preferred guns but he let you practice nonetheless. You’d already identified some of the kitchen blades that would move well in the air, which helped to clarify your vision. 

Another crack across your cheek brought you back to reality and you could taste something metallic, probably blood. Your eyes found Reiner’s and you were relieved to see a bored expression on his face. He released you and skulked out of the common room, leaving you to clean up in peace. 

…

Lucien was already in the bathhouse when you arrived, sat cross-legged on the crate as he had been the night prior. This time, there was another crate across from him and you awkwardly took a seat. The oil lamp burned between you and the flickering flame cast shadows up the wall. He may not have been the tallest man but Lucien’s aura oozed dominance, that and the way he’d ordered Julies and Marie to leave last night told you that he was clearly their senior. He looked to be in his early 30s but despite the constant frown on his face, there were no lines etched onto his skin.

“Your lip is bleeding.” He points out, offering you a handkerchief from his pocket. You accept it and dab at your lip, inspecting the red blotches that form on the fabric. Another strike. You mumble thanks but he waves his hand. “How long have you been here?”

“Around eight months.” 

“And you were arrested for?”

“Being a traitor.” 

“I consider myself a trustworthy person, Reader. Tell me about your relationship with the Resistance.” Lucien hums.

“Tell me who you are first.”

“Not yet.” Comes the curt response.

“I’ll tell you about the Resistance when you tell me who you are.” You’re not trying to be difficult but he can’t expect you to spill such secrets to a stranger. “We don’t need to know about each other for now, we should focus on escaping.” 

Lucien clicks his tongue. “Fine. Tell me about the manor house.” 

You explain everything you know. The manor house had five floors; the ground floor was mostly used by the prisoners and low-level officers and consisted of a kitchen, two dining rooms, and the main administrative office. The second and third floors were used as sleeping quarters for the officers who lived at the Camp. Not all of the officers stayed on-site, some resided at the barracks located a short drive away. The fourth-floor had some more offices and a communications room with a radio system. The common room was on the top floor, as well as Zeke’s office and the weapons room. 

“What about exits and entries? Any back staircases?” 

“Three exits. One in the kitchen, the main front entrance, and the back doors. There’s a servant's staircase in the pantry, you can get to every floor from there.” 

“Good.” He nods. “Which offices can be accessed by you?” 

“I’m only allowed in if the officers ask for help and that’s mostly in the ground floor administration room. I’ve only been in the communications office a few times, only the senior officers are permitted in there.” 

“Which offices are locked?” 

“Only Zeke’s and the weapons room are locked.” 

“I assume he holds the keys?”

You nod. “I think I could steal them but only for an hour or so.” 

Lucien waves his hand, disregarding your point. It seems he does that a lot, a rather irritating habit. 

“Later.” He grunts. “Tell me about the patrol patterns.” 

You do as he asks, detailing the changeovers and shift lengths. He listens quietly.

“Why do you not eat meals with the rest of us in the evenings?” 

“I serve the officers drinks in the common room.” You cringe.

Lucien’s eyebrow twitches. “I see. Why?”

You pause. 

“Reiner seems to get a kick out of it and no one else has the energy to object.”

“Of course he does.” Lucien scoffs.

“I hear them speaking, that’s how I get my information.” 

Lucien rests his chin on his palm and gives you a thoughtful look. “So, you speak Russian?” 

You nod. “I speak most European languages.” 

“How useful.” Both of his eyebrows raise briefly but he doesn’t humour you. “What have you picked up from them recently?”

“They’re moving out soon, they need to be somewhere by the last week of April. I think they’re heading to Paris. The rest of the prisoners will be relocated West before then.” 

“Not you?” He asks bluntly.

“Not me.” Your face says it all, he doesn’t need to ask what you mean. “You said you needed information, tell me what you’re looking for.” 

“I’m not sure whether you’ll be able to get it unless you are permitted access to one of the offices. I think the intelligence I’m after will need to be stolen when we escape.” He explains. “For now, keep your ears open for any dates or locations. If you’re asked to work in the offices, map them in your mind for me. Are any of the drawers or cupboards locked? What sort of papers are on the desk? That sort of thing.”

You nod. 

“I don’t want you acting any differently than usual.” He leans forward. “Don’t give anyone any reason to be suspicious.” 

“What about the escape plan?” 

“Leave that to me.” He waves his hand again, you start to feel irritated.

“I don’t think you unders-”

He cuts you off. “Listen, brat. Don’t tell me-”

You interrupt him back. “Stop calling me brat, I’m not a child.” 

“Stop acting like one then.” He huffs. “Leave the escape planning to me, do you understand?”

You nod, hanging your head in defeat.

“I keep my promises.” He offers, sensing your anxiety. “When the time is right we’ll be out of here before they know what’s happened.” 

You frown. “I’m going to kill Reiner and Zeke.”

Lucien gives you a bored look and sighs. “Revenge is a dangerous motive, one that more often than not gets you killed. Is that what you want?” 

“If it means I get to watch them die.”

“I told you to stop acting like a child.” He growls. “This isn’t just about you anymore, got it? Don’t make me regret letting you live.”

You blink at him, trying to read his face and failing miserably.

“Get back to bed.” He orders.

You do as you’re told, the authority in his tone was absolute and you didn’t feel like testing him. You reach out to return his handkerchief but the look on his face makes you retract your hand almost instantly.

“Keep it, it’s filthy anyway.” He mutters.

Spinning on your heels, you storm out of the bathhouse. You’d never been one to follow orders, much preferring to march to the beat of your own drum. It had been your Fathers favourite thing about you, it reminded him of your Mother. The time spent in captivity was clearly having an effect on you; normally, you’d have told Lucien to shove it the minute he started ordering you around. Perhaps it was Reiners doing, had he really managed to turn you into some sort of submissive dog? You frown at the thought. 

Lucien wasn’t like Reiner. You weren’t surrendering to his will out of fear, more so respect. He had asked you the right questions, clearly wanting to make sure he had all the information necessary to plot and execute an effective escape plan. It was clear to you that he knew what he was doing, his authoritative poise made it easy to trust him. Your Father had always taught you that the most important thing to do when operating in the field was to identify people you can rely on. Togetherness was essential in times of war and as long as you kept your wits about you, there shouldn’t be any reason not to collaborate. At this point, you were more than willing to lower your guard slightly and lean on your co-conspirators. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busted!!! Lucien is not happy with Readers plotting lol hopefully they can work together... 
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter, thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> I've just finished writing chapter 4, things are about to get crazzzzzzzy!! stay tuned...
> 
> <3


	4. Everything Is A Factor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING***
> 
> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS PHYSICAL ABUSE, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THIS TOPIC!!!
> 
> Buckle up...

You woke in a cold sweat, having dreamt about them again. The faces of your childhood friends, your first crush, your Father and the people you’d grown up with in Paris flash through your mind. A familiar dull ache in your chest resurfaces, a painful reminder of just how long you’ve been away from home. 

You went through your morning on auto-pilot. Putting on a brave face came easily most days, but there were times when the facade would crumble. You were exhausted. Months of captivity paired with relentless anxiety had left you feeling as though you were barely keeping your head above water. You were lost at sea, struggling with all your might not to drown but your muscles were growing tired. You’d often wonder how you’d managed to hang on for so long when the waves were constantly lapping at your face and the salty spray stung your eyes. Your Fathers words would ring through your head, like a mantra, “make sure your revenge is sweet.”

What kind of revenge did you want? Visualising the graphic murders of Zeke and Reiner had always served as a useful tool to help you withstand the physical abuse, but you wondered whether it would actually bring you any peace. Taking their lives wouldn’t breathe air back into your Fathers lungs, nor would it replace the void he left behind. Lucien had already warned you about the frivolity of revenge as a motive but he didn’t know you. He didn’t know your Fathers last words and he certainly didn’t know what you’d been put through. It irked you that he’d questioned your values but you couldn’t help feeling conflicted. You didn’t know much about him, but the conviction of his words weighed heavily in your mind. He was older than you and clearly had some experience in the field, perhaps he was trying to look out for you. That, or he was concerned that your hunger for vengeance might jeopardise his plan. Whatever that was. 

The day was overcast, grey clouds stretched across the sky and there was a notable chill in the air. You were grateful to be working within the warmth of the oven, preparing beef for a stew. The Soviets had done well to monopolise the farmlands within the occupied territory and there was rarely any shortages of food for the officers. It made you feel bitter, knowing that the commoners of France were likely to be suffering from hunger. 

“Hey, catch.” Marie chirps from across the kitchen.

You spun around, throwing your arms out clumsily, but your reflexes were too slow to catch the potato that she’d launched at you. The spud hit you square on the forehead and you watch as it drops to the floor before glancing up at Marie. Her cheeks were full of air and she had an arm wrapped across her stomach, begging for permission to burst into laughter. You just stare at her for a moment, a smile creeping across your face and before you knew it, the pair of you were howling. You clutch at your hip but it does nothing to help the pain that sears up your sides. Tears fall and the two of you wheeze until there was no air left in your lungs, leaving you slumped across the workbench. It was a bittersweet moment, you hadn’t laughed like that for so long, and you did nothing to obstruct the tears that continued to fall after you’d caught your breath. Pulling Lucien’s handkerchief from the pocket of your cardigan, you wipe at your cheeks. Marie seems to recognise the piece of fabric but doesn’t mention it.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Marie approaches and inspects your forehead. “That probably hurt.” 

“No.” You sniff. “It's just been a really long time since I’ve laughed like that.”

Marie doesn’t hesitate, she reels you in and hugs you tight. You melt into her arms, grateful for the brief moment of affection. 

“Don’t you worry,” she whispers into your hair. “Once we're out of this place, you’ll come to appreciate my sense of humour even more!” 

“You really think we have a chance of escaping?” 

Marie sighs and pulls back but she keeps her hands on your shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze. She takes a minute before speaking, clearly choosing her words carefully.

“If anyone's going to find a way to get us out of here, it’s Lucien.”

“You trust him?” 

“With my life.” She replies instantly, her eyes don’t waver. “And I’d give mine for his in an instant.”

You nod, folding away the handkerchief and placing it back in your pocket.

“You can trust us, Reader.” Marie urges. “I know we haven’t given you much to go by yet, but I swear that no harm will come to you by us. We want the same thing.” 

You sniff. 

“I can’t imagine how difficult things have been for you.” She continues in a soft voice. “Its okay to feel scared, or overwhelmed. War does terrible things to the mind.” 

“I feel like I’m going insane. One minute I feel terrified and insecure, the next I’m angry and full of confidence.” You admit. “All I want is freedom for my country.” 

“As do I.” Marie nods. “Trust Lucien, he lives by his word. He might not be the most likeable man but he’s honest, he will repay your faith in time.” 

“Is he your…”

“No way!” Marie snorts, relaxing her grip on your shoulders and retreating to her side of the workbench. “He’s an insufferable old geezer, I’m not sure he’s even capable of such feelings any more.”

“But you like him?” You tease. 

Marie’s presence was so comforting and her hug had sucked the sadness from within you. She was warm and kind, and her smile was always genuine. Being around her made you feel lighter and you couldn’t help but look forward to finding out more about her when you were free.

“He’s like my brother.” She explains. “He’s had plenty of admirers over the years but I’ve never been one of them.”

You can imagine that to be the case. Lucien was handsome and aloof but you had no doubt that his attitude scared most women away. You blush slightly at the thought. 

“What about Jules?” You ask in an attempt to change the topic of conversation. 

“He’s like my baby brother.” She smiles fondly. “We call him brains. He’s quiet but he’s without a doubt the smartest person I know.” 

“So you’re like a family?” You hum. 

“I guess you could say that.” She agrees. “We stick together.”

“That must be nice, knowing someone has your back.” 

“Do you not have anyone like that?” She asks gently.

“I still have friends in Paris. I think…” Your voice trails off.

“You’ll see them again,” Marie reassures.

You smile and return to the stew. You hope that there’ll be familiar faces waiting should you make it back to Paris. You wonder what had transpired during your absence, whether anyone that you knew was even still there. Your stomach lurched. What if they were all dead? No, there was no way. What if they’d abandoned the capital and retreated West? No, they’d never concede Paris willingly. Your brain continues the back and forth for a while, arguing with itself, until you're interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Reader?”

Bertolt was stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame. You close the lid on the stew. 

“Can I help you?” You ask sweetly. 

“You can actually.” He nods. “Zeke wants an audit of the prisoner paperwork. Would you mind lending me a hand?”

You glance at Marie.

“I can handle this.” She gives you a knowing look and offers you a thumbs up. “Leave lunch to me.”

You follow Bertolt to the administration office, there are boxes upon boxes stacked in the middle of the room, brimming with papers.

“Its a lot.” He sighs, gesturing to the mess. “I need you to sort them by release date, most of them will be old. Log the names and date of release in here.” He hands you a notebook. “Keep the papers of current prisoners separate.”

“Sounds simple enough, I’ll get to work right away.”

“Thanks, Reader. I appreciate it.” He gives you a sympathetic look. “It will probably take you a while, don’t worry if you can’t finish it all today. Work until dinner, we’ll serve our own beer tonight.” 

You knit your brows together. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He nods firmly.

“Thank you, really Bertolt, thank you.” You gush.

He offers his hands up and sighs, “you shouldn’t have to thank me.”

You half smile, hating how pathetic you must look to him. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” He hums, closing the door behind him. 

You were slightly confused that he wouldn’t be helping you but you didn’t think much of it, you’d been left to work here alone once or twice before. Bertolt must have wanted the work to drag on for as long as possible, perhaps an attempt to keep you away from Reiner for a night or two. 

You waited a moment to ensure he wasn’t coming back before scrambling to your feet. The office had a simple layout; there was a desk with a few drawers by the window and a large chestnut cabinet with multiple drawers and cupboards against the far wall. You inspect the desk first. There were some papers scattered across the top and you skim through them. They were mostly food audit lists, documenting the produce that came from the farm as well as what had been imported via the central Soviet government. You move on to the drawers. The top one was locked; the others contain more audit documents, one in particular catches your eye. It was a report, with yesterdays date at the top, detailing the number and types of weapons stored upstairs.

“Bingo.” You chuckle to yourself.

You grab the notebook Bertolt had left you and rip out two sheets, it wouldn’t be smart to leave an imprint on the remaining pages. You copy down the information and double-check all the numbers are correct, before moving on to the next drawer. You repeat your previous steps, transcribing any information you think Lucien might find useful. 

Before you tackle the cabinet, you open the first box of prisoner paperwork and sort a few piles. If Bertolt returned and you hadn’t started working, he’d likely be suspicious. The first box contains files on prisoners that had been released before your time, so it doesn’t take long for you to organise them.

The cabinet drawers were all locked and the cupboards didn’t contain anything particularly interesting but you copy down some of the information nonetheless. You could ask Lucien whether or not it was helpful and look back through them tomorrow if need be. You check the undersides of the cupboards, as well as the desk, in case there was a key hidden in the office. There wasn’t, so you tuck your papers into your knickers and continue working through the remaining boxes. 

…

Lucien barely greets you when you arrive at the bathhouse that evening, he’s sat in his usual position on the crate. Though when you join him, he instantly notices the excitable look on your face.

“Tell me about your day, Violet.” He pauses, “do you mind if I call you that?” 

“It's fine, I got asked to work in the administration office today.” You beam at him. “Bertolt left me in there alone all day.” 

“Bertolt?” He grunts.

“One of the officers, less of an asshole than the rest.” 

He nods, “and?” 

You hitch up your skirt and retrieve your notes, ignoring the disgruntled look on Lucien’s face as you flash him your thighs. You're eager to show him your findings so you pay it no notice. He snatches the papers from you and takes his time reading them through. 

“Are you military?” You ask.

He nods but doesn’t look up from the paper.

“Are you French?”

“I thought you said we don’t need to know about each other.” He grits, still not looking at you.

“I suppose.” You hum. “I just feel rather reckless, running away with three strangers.”

“Not getting cold feet, are you? I’d be happy to leave you here.” He looks up this time and though his face remains stoic, you sense that he’s teasing you.

You pout and cross your arms.

“No.” You huff. “What happens when we get out?” 

“We go to Paris.” 

“We?” 

He sighs. “That’s where you’ll head, is it not?” 

You scrunch your nose. It’s like he can read your mind, he always seems to know what you’re thinking, it’s incredibly irritating.

“That’s what I thought.” He answers for you. “That’s where we’ll be going too.” 

“Why do you do that?” You ask.

“Do what?”

“Tell me what I’m thinking, it’s annoying.” 

“Tch.” He scoffs. “You’re incredibly easy to read. You’re smart, I’ll give you that, but not as smart as you think you are.” 

You scowl but he humours you. 

“I mean no offence.” He waves his hand. “You’ve got potential.” 

“Potential for what?” You ask. 

“No more questions.” 

You sigh. The more you learn of your co-conspirators, the more intrigued you are. They’re definitely from some sort of organisation, whether it be military or anti-occupation, you weren’t sure. You hoped Lucien would keep his word and tell you more once you were out. If he did, you’d introduce him to the Resistance. You still knew how to reach them, you could only hope that you’d get to Paris in time.

“This is interesting.” He notes, pointing out the scribbles about the weapons room.

“I know.” You can’t hide the smugness in your voice.

“Wipe that look off your face.” He grunts. “You said you thought you might be able to get a key, how?” 

“Zeke drinks red wine in the common room.” You explain, keen to impress. “If I accidentally spill some on his jacket, he might let me take it straight to the laundry room.” 

“Too risky.” He waves his hand. “How do you know he won’t persecute you for ruining his uniform?”

“Because that would be more effort than it’s worth.” You frown. “They’re not all like Reiner and I’m just some useless girl to them, if I play innocent, I think I could do it.” 

Lucien contemplates this for a moment but returns his attention to the papers.

“You don’t think I can, do you?” 

“I think you could, but that doesn’t mean you should.” He sighs. “I’ll consider it.” 

“I’ll be in the office again tomorrow if there’s anything you want more details on.” 

“This.” He points. “We might be able to work out their moving date if we figure out the food shipment pattern.” 

You nod, mentally cursing yourself for not noting down any of the dates from the produce audit sheets. Lucien folds the papers and tucks them into his pocket before leaning toward you.

“This Bertolt. Is he trustworthy?”

You contemplate your answer. “I’m not sure. I think he feels bad for me but I wouldn’t expect anything from him.”

“Did he give you this role to keep you away from Reiner?” He asks.

“I think so.” 

“Hmm.” Lucien brings a hand to his chin. “Do you think he harbours any feelings toward you?” 

“No, that’s ridiculous.” You scoff. “He’s a Crank like the rest of them, he’s just not a pervert.” 

“Interesting.”

“Why do you ask that?”

Lucien rolls his eyes. “You’ve never considered asking him for help to escape?” 

You shake your head, “I wouldn’t trust a Crank.” 

“But you’re a woman.”

“Thank you for noticing.” You give him a confused look and make no effort to hide the sarcasm in your voice. 

“Violet.” He sighs. “You’re a smart girl, do you need me to spell it out for you?” 

“I grew up around boys and men.” You shrug. “I’ve never considered my gender to be a factor.”

“Everything is a factor.” Lucien points out. “Test the waters, play the victim, see how far he might be willing to go.” 

“I am the victim.” You remind him with a scowl, “I will not offer my body in exchange for help escaping.” 

“Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t ask that of you.” He scorns, his face twisted in disgust. “Find out whether he can get you similar jobs in the other offices.” 

“Right, sorry.” You blush, he waves his hand.

“I’m rather offended that you think so lowly of me.” 

“I don’t know you.” You remind him.

He exhales deeply and nods before waving his hand once more, “back to bed.” 

…

You finish working through the pile of boxes by dinner time the following day, you make sure to look back over the produce audit sheets and note down the dates. It looks as though the shipments arrive on a fortnightly basis, with the most recent one having been delivered three days ago. You were congregating the last of the files when the office door swung open; you smile in greeting, only it’s not Bertolt in the doorway, it’s Reiner. 

He crashes through the papers towards you, scattering them around the room.

“You thought you could hide from me? Did you?” He yells out, hauling you from the floorboards by the collar of your dress and shoving your back into the desk. You wince at the impact. 

“I was asked to help out.” You shriek.

“I don’t care.” He seethes, once again bringing a calloused palm up to your throat. “I’m going to punish you.” 

You try and kick out but he just tightens his grip, forcing your airway shut. The look in his eyes is menacing, you were sure you’d seen him at his worst, but there was practically steam funnelling from his ears. He’d regularly strangle you, it was like a sign of ownership to him, but this time he grasped your throat with both hands and squeezed harder than he ever had done before. You cough and choke but he doesn’t relax his grip, it must have really pissed him off to miss out on a day of torturing you. The familiar white spots dance across your eyes and your vision starts to blur. Struggling was pointless, he must have actually been trying to kill you this time around. You could feel your muscles begin to relax and your eyes roll back but you were still conscious, barely. You could hear him muttering profanities under his breath as he squeezed and squeezed but your ears couldn’t register them. It was only until someone cleared their throat in the doorway that he finally let you go. You crash to the floor, barely cognisant and feeling sleepy. 

“Hey, hey.” Bertolt’s voice shakes you from your daze, you could feel his hand on your arm. “He’s gone, you’re okay.” 

He helps you sit up with your back leaning against the desk and waits patiently for you to regain your bearings. The office is trashed, your days work ruined. You choke back a sob but you were powerless to the tears that spill from your eyes. Your throat burns and as you reach up to touch the skin at your neck, pain shoots through your body.

“I’m sorry.” You sniff once your eyes come back into focus and you spot Bertolt knelt before you. 

“Don’t apologise.” His tone is pained, his expression more so.

“The papers.” You mumble.

“It’s fine, Reader.” He assures you. “You can come back again tomorrow.” 

You meet his eyes, they’re full of concern and anguish. You sob once more, remembering what Lucien asked of you.

“I’m scared.” You weep, looking up at him through your lashes. You pull the most innocent and frightened expression you have in your locker. “I can’t take it anymore.” 

Bertolt shushes you and strokes your arm. He’s quiet for a moment and lets you whimper beneath him.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He nods. “The communications room is a mess, I could use some help with the paperwork there too. I’ll speak to Zeke, don’t worry.” 

You launch yourself at him and throw your arms around his neck, bawling into his shirt. You feel guilty for milking the reaction, but it’s how any normal woman would react to being strangled half to death. You feel Bertolt sigh as he wraps his arms around your back.

“I really appreciate it, Bertolt.” You whisper, your lips inches from his ear. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You feel him tense up beneath you and he holds you for a little while longer before helping you to your feet. 

“Go and have some dinner.” He instructs, doing his best to hide the flustered expression on his face. “I’ll go and speak to Zeke, he won’t be happy about this.” 

You nod, though you don’t really agree with him. Zeke had always turned a blind eye to Reiner’s misdemeanours but there was a possibility he’d be unimpressed to hear about the attempted murder. You had an eye witness this time and Bertolt was a well-respected officer within the Camp. This was all turning out rather well, you couldn’t help but admit. Despite the aches and the tender skin around your neck, you felt proud of yourself. Slightly remorseful that you’d twisted Bertolt around your little finger, but chuffed with your performance nonetheless.

You spot Lucien hovering outside of the dining room and rush towards him. He frowns at you, probably a warning not to interact in such an open place.

“Good evening.” Your smile is sweet and smug, he doesn’t reciprocate.

His eyes are glued to your neck and you suddenly feel self-conscious. Had Reiner ripped your dress? You feel along your collar, there are no tears in the fabric. 

“Is everything okay?” You ask cautiously. 

“Fine.” He grits, though his usual stoic and unreadable expression is now screwed up in affliction. 

You stand there awkwardly, not sure of what to say. Looking to escape the tension you reach for the door handle to the dining room but Lucien grabs your wrist. His hold is tight but not enough to bruise. The hairs on your body stand up at his touch, you blink at him.

“I didn’t realise it was that bad.” 

You wriggle your wrist but he doesn’t let go. 

“I’m fine.” You assure, smiling halfheartedly. 

You weren’t fine. Underneath the adrenaline, you were petrified. Reiner had actually tried to kill you this time but you’d buried the fear, opting to focus on the win you’d achieved with Bertolt. Lucien’s obvious concern had caused the terror to resurface and you needed to dodge any further comments to prevent yourself from breaking down. 

“Later.” You nod.

He releases your wrist, you dart past him and head for the laundry room. Searching through the clothing bin, you find a black knitted jumper with a high neck and slip it over your head, the fabric is scratchy but it will do for now. You feel Lucien’s eyes practically burning a hole in your skull throughout your meal. You try and make small talk with Camille and Marie to distract yourself but the worry continues to bubble away in your stomach.

You didn’t want Lucien’s sympathy, you wanted him to hurry up and tell you he had a plan to escape before Reiner could make another attempt on your life. You hoped that the good news about Bertolt would be enough to ease his discomfort. You felt a pang in your chest when you realised that Lucien was clearly troubled by the marks on your body; as you finished the last of your dinner, you wondered whether it was because he cared about your wellbeing, or because he was worried that Reiner would kill you before he could extract more information… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed Chapter 4, the story is really picking up pace now. 
> 
> Lucien is very concerned about our Reader, maybe he does have a heart...
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon.
> 
> <3


	5. I Think We're Ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Sorry for the mini-break, I had major writer's block and may or may not have been binge-watching Dr. Stone lol... 
> 
> Enjoy :)

Lucien was once again sat on his crate at the far wall of the bathhouse that night, though you immediately notice something off about his presence. Instead of his usual detached persona, you observe that he looks incredibly tense. He was hunched over with a white knuckle grip of his knees, a scowl more prominent than usual across his face.

“Sit.”

You gingerly take a seat. The butterflies in your stomach go wild; all you wanted to do was gush about the progress you’d made with Bertolt but something about Lucien’s mood indicated you were about to be forced to relive the ordeal with Reiner.

“Tell me what happened?”

You sigh, subconsciously pulling at the knitwear covering your neck. “It’s no big deal. I made good progress with Bertolt today, I’d rather discuss that.”

Lucien waves his hand, brows knitted together. “Tell me.”

“Why?” You grit your teeth, “you’ve seen the bruises before, I’m fine.”

Lucien clicks his tongue, reclining so his back rests against the wall, he’s wearing an expression you have not seen before. “I’m concerned that I am putting you at risk.”

“Huh?” You frown.

“Has he ever done this before?”

“What? Strangle me?” You raise a brow, “regularly, though never with two hands.”

You pull at your jumper once more.

“Show me.”

“No.”

“The jumpers clearly irritating your skin, show me.”

You sigh, there was little point in arguing with him. Perhaps showing him the severity of the bruises you’d received might encourage him to hurry up with his planning. You stand and pull the jumper over your head, wincing slightly as the wool scratches against your skin. Lucien picks up the oil lamp and takes a step towards you, inspecting the blue and purple tie-dye colouring to your neck. He screws his face up in anguish and exhales deeply, shaking his head.

“Disgusting,” he grunts before sitting back down. “Men who put their hands on women in such a manner do not deserve their company.”

You shrug, “I made progress with Bertolt.”

He waves his hand but his eyes don’t meet yours.

“He walked in and saw what Reiner was doing,” you pause. “I thought he was going to kill me but he stopped when Bertolt came in. He said he would get me more work, in the communications room.” The smile that creeps across your face catches Lucien’s attention, he frowns. “I did what you said, I cried to him and said I was scared, he fell for it hook, line and sinker.”

“Reiner tried to kill you.” Lucien reminds you.

“Didn’t you hear me?” You growl, beginning to grow impatient. “Listen, Lucien. I’ve put up with Reiner for eight whole months. I’m quite confident he won’t actually kill me, not before he’s got what he truly desires.” You cringe, so does Lucien. “I can deal with it, for now. Bertolt said he was going to tell Zeke, he doesn’t usually pay attention to Reiner’s behaviour but I don’t think he’ll be impressed to hear about this particular incident.”

“Fine.” Lucien exhales, “if he ever threatens your life in such a manner again, I’d like you to come and find me immediately. I appreciate your help and I will keep my promise, but I will not put your life at risk to do so. If his behaviour increases in volatility, we’ll look to implement plan B.”

“There’s a plan B?” You ask.

Lucien nods, “and C, D, E and F.”

“What’s plan A?”

As you expected, Lucien waves his hand. “Soon.”

You click your tongue and Lucien gives you a confused look. You were equally shocked that you’d imitated his habit, you’d never done that before. Thankfully, he dismisses it.

“The communications room. How likely is it that you’ll be left in there alone?”

“Very unlikely,” you inform him. Bertolt may treat you kindly, but he was no idiot. “I can imagine Bertolt will want to keep an eye on me for the rest of the week, I think he works in there most of the time.”

“Fine. Map the room for me, try and find out what sort of radio they use. Ask Bertolt if you think you can do so inconspicuously, pretend to be interested in how it works. How organised is the room? What is the filing system like?”

“He said he needed help with the paperwork so that should be easy.”

Lucien nods, you pull the jumper back over your head, he watches you intently. You were starting to feel tired, the chaos of the day had made your eyelids feel rather heavy.

“Back to bed.” Lucien orders, “and Violet.” You stop in your tracks halfway to the door and turn to him. “Never mind.” He waves his hand and you dismiss the disgruntled expression on his face, too tired to care about what he might have wanted to say.

You collapse into your cot and fall asleep almost instantly.

In your dreams, you’re skipping through the fields of violet in Provence and your Father is waiting for you at a picnic bench with mint ice cream. There’s a woman there too, though her face is blurred. Despite the trauma, your dreams bring you feelings of comfort and serenity, perhaps your brain was subconsciously reminding you that there exists a place of calm in the South.

…

“So, how does it work then?” You’re standing behind the desk in the communications room, Bertolt to your left. You’d already cleared the paperwork from within the draws and were in the process of polishing the radio's casing. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it? How you can type something in here and someone can read it from somewhere far away.”

“This one works via frequencies.” Bertolt gushes, “we have telephones at the main bases but we use these ones more often because you can send messages in code.”

“In code?” You feint surprise and intrigue. You knew what codes were, the Resistance used them to, however you'd never seen a system like the one on the desk. It was a large grey metal box, with dials and knobs, and a small keyboard with the letters of the Russian alphabet.

“Yes.” Bertolt nods enthusiastically, “we use codes in case anyone intercepts our messages, that way they won’t know what we’re saying. You type in what you want to say, in code, at a certain time and date, and someone at the other end writes down the message and decodes it.”

“Wow!” You trace a finger delicately over the keyboard, “how on earth do you know what time the other person is sitting at their box?”

Bertolt chuckles, “the time is agreed beforehand.”

“How would someone be able to intercept a message?”

You’re pushing your luck slightly but Bertolt seems to be enthused by your interest in his work, he was the main radio operator at the base and it was clear none of the other officers were very interested in the technology.

“It’s quite technical.” Bertolt explains, “but essentially, the messages are sent via a certain frequency. Anyone can access that frequency if they have the right radio system but there are thousand, so the likelihood of someone seizing your message is low. That's why we use a code, to be certain that even if someone does get hold of our message, it won’t make any sense to them.”

You hum, it would be risky to pry further, so you decide to change the topic of conversation.

“Your French is very good, Bertolt.” You bat your lashes at him, he blushes.

“Thank you.” He grins, “as chief radio operator, it’s important that I have a good understanding of a few languages.”

“I see. Do you spend most of your time working in here?”

“Yes.” Bertolt nods, “I’m in here alone most days, so it’s nice to have some company.”

You flash a smile and move around the desk, “what should we do next?”

“Let's go through this,” Bertolt joins you in the middle of the room. The floor is covered with piles of paperwork that had once lived in the drawers. Bertolt was clearly not the most organised person, most of the papers were crumpled and there had been no filing system in place. “We’ll sort them by date, like last time, anything with one of these symbols at the top,” he points out a stamped symbol of an eagle, “keep separate, that means it’s important.”

You nod, settling onto the floorboards and heaving a pile of papers in front of you. You couldn’t quite believe your luck, the officers had no idea you were able to read Russian. The dates were always displayed numerically, so you would’ve been able to help with the admin regardless of what language you read.

“I’ll be right back,” Bertolt heads towards the doorway. “I need to check the radio schedules with Zeke, I’ll lock the door.” He gives you a knowing look.

“Thank you.”

Once you hear the click of the key in the door, you scramble around the room in search of a piece of scrap paper and a pen. You hurriedly flick through as many papers as possible, pulling out the ones with the stamp at the top and copying down the information. Most of the papers were transcripts of the correspondence sent via the radio system; the intelligence was in abundance and it was difficult to determine which parts to copy. You opted to make note of the dates and locations, as Lucien had asked you to previously, labelling them with brief descriptions you hoped would prompt your memory.

…

The scratchy jumper had quickly become a staple in your limited wardrobe, despite the hoarse knit, it was comforting. It was definitely mens, you could tell by the oversized fit but you didn’t let yourself wonder too much about who the previous owner might have been. Lucien gives you a nod when you arrive in the bathhouse and as you hitch up your skirt to retrieve your notes, he turns away. It makes you blush slightly, it wasn’t as though you were showing him your knickers but you appreciate the gesture. You hand him the notes but he doesn’t open them straight away, instead, his eyes are glued to yours.

“How’s your neck?” He asks as you take a seat on the crate opposite.

“Still a bit sore but otherwise fine.”

“Are you wearing that hideous jumper to hide it?” He asks.

“Are you trying to make small talk?” You smirk, he frowns.

“It's important that I have a good understanding of your mental state,” he sighs. “I’m concerned.”

You raise your brow, “you’re concerned about me?”

“Should I be?”

“Probably.” You admit, “I’m tired, stressed and my anxiety is through the roof.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I’m starting to forget,” your voice wobbles, and the words fall from your mouth without permission. “I can’t remember what it feels like to be in control of my life. I’ve been here so long, I don’t know what I’m capable of anymore. It's frustrating, I feel like I'm forgetting myself.”

“Do you need me to slap some sense into you?”

Lucien’s question leaves you stunned for a moment, you don’t think he’s joking, his face is solemn. You blink at him and to your amazement, you notice the corner of his mouth curl upwards into what you assume to be a smirk.

“What?” You chuckle.

“Do you think we’d draft you in to work with us if we didn’t believe you were capable?”

“What do you mean?”

Lucien rolls his eyes, “Marie had her eye on you before you even mentioned your plan. I told her I wasn’t interested in collaborating but she wouldn’t shut up about you, it was annoying as hell. Do you want to know what she said?”

You nod.

“She told me there was a girl that was far too smart to be here. She said that she tried to bait you into telling her about Paris or the Resistance, but you answered like someone that had been trained to withhold information. She said that you were able to tell that French wasn’t her first language simply because of the way she pronounced a single letter. There are grown men that have worked in the field for longer than you’ve been on this Earth that can’t do that.” Lucien’s eyes don’t leave yours. “Then, you waltz in here, pay no mind to my threats and even have the cheek to give me attitude.” He clicks his tongue. “So, I give you a little trial and you pass with flying colours. You manage to provide me with more intelligence than the three of us have gathered, despite our training.”

You simply stare at him, his words boost your ego to unforeseen heights. You have a slight inkling that he’s doing it on purpose, to help you regain your confidence so that you’re able to execute his plan. You’re grateful regardless. Lucien may come across as a bit of an asshole but his ability to read people and act accordingly was almost scary. He’d looked into your eyes and pulled from them all of your insecurities, and he was now going about diminishing them.

“Every day, that imbecilic beast tries everything in his power to belittle and intimidate you, but each time he chips a piece of you away, you add that piece to the pyre and set the whole thing alight. You’ve managed to influence a senior Soviet officer and bend him to your will and that’s now given you access to one of the most important rooms in that manor house.” He pauses and rests his chin on his palm. “Believe me when I say this, I am not easily impressed. Nor was I keen to include a troublesome little brat in my scheme yet here you are, and here I am, relying on you for the information necessary to execute my plan.”

You’re dumbfounded and your eyes begin to water, “I didn’t think you had it in you to be so nice.”

“I’m not being nice,” he rolls his eyes. In his defence, his tone had remained monotonous throughout the speech, but his words had touched you nonetheless. “I’m being honest. Don’t let it go to your head, I still think you’re annoying. I’m also insulted that you doubt yourself when I’ve quite obviously put a lot of faith in you.”

You don’t know what to say, Lucien seems to know this though, and waves his hand. He holds your gaze for a little while longer before shifting his focus to the papers in his lap.

“Tell me about the radio.”

You recall what you can, though you admit you’re not an expert on the technical terms, nor did you really understand what frequencies were.

"Leave that to brains." Lucien pauses and narrows his eyes. "If we can get our hands on their code,” his voice trails off.

“Is that what you’re here for?”

He shakes his head and scoffs. Once again, his lips curl up into a half-smirk.

“We're here for the invasion plans.”

…

Bertolt was busier the following day and didn’t have the capacity to assist you with the admin work, you didn’t mind though. You listened to him tapping away on the radio keyboard, every now and then he’d turn to the typewriter and record whatever message he had received. You kept your eyes peeled for any sign of the code key, but so far, you hadn't had any luck. It was mid-morning, so you decided to force the issue.

“Bertolt?” You chirp from your spot on the floor, “would you like me to fetch you a drink? Tea or coffee, or some breakfast perhaps? You’ve been working awfully hard.”

You bat your lashes at him, which earns you a wide grin.

“That would be great, Reader. I take my coffee with milk and if there are any pastries left, I’d be grateful.”

You nod and exit the office, banking on the idea that to deliver him his meal you might get a better look at the desk and perhaps be able to spot the code key.

Marie was in the kitchen when you arrived and when you informed her of your plot, you could tell she was impressed.

“You really are something, aren’t you.” She chuckles as you pour some coffee into a mug. Marie hands you a steaming pasty and shoos you from the kitchen with a warning not to keep Bertolt waiting too long.

When you return to the office, his face is screwed up in concentration, he beckons you over but raises a hand, asking you to wait whilst he scribbles down a message. You scan the desk, the radio takes up most of the space, the typewriter is also quite large. Bertolt is scrawling on a scrap piece of paper and to his left is a small leather book, the pages are yellowed and you realise immediately it must be the code key. You hide your delight and once he’s finished transcribing the message, you place down the mug and pastry with a sweet smile.

You make easy work of the rest of the files and try your best to memorise as much information as you can, but you’ve asked a lot of your brain recently. The late-night trips to the bathhouse were starting to take their toll and you could feel a headache coming. The tiredness was so overwhelming, you didn’t hear the knock at the door.

“Reader.” Zeke announces himself, “come with me.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and follow him. Nerves creep up your spine and you pray to whatever god that was willing to listen that your snooping hadn’t been discovered. Zeke leads you to his office in silence, you’d not been in there before and you realised that this was likely to be your only opportunity to map the layout for Lucien. Zeke sits behind his desk and waves for you to take a seat opposite.

“It has come to my attention that you were involved in a serious incident with one of my officers.” He drones, “I would like to extend my apologies and inform you that the officer in question has been warned against such behaviour.”

You nod, “thank you, Sir.”

“However,” he shakes his head. “I am not responsible for the events that may unfold in the future. You will serve us in the common room on Fridays, but the rest of the evenings your service will not be required.”

You nod. Zeke was clearly aware that Reiner would throw himself at you the moment the rest of the officers and prisoners had moved on; he was only protecting his reputation by ensuring no serious harm came to you whilst he was in command at the Camp. He continues to speak but you tune him out, eyes drawn to a corkboard on the wall behind him. There are various papers pinned to the board, in the bottom left corner hangs a row of keys. Above each key is a label, with what looks like a registration number.

The Jeeps.

You snap your attention back to Zeke but the butterflies in your stomach are in a frenzy, if one of you can sneak into Zeke’s office and snag a set of keys, your escape was all but confirmed.

That night, when you tell Lucien about your most recent findings, he tells you the four words you’ve been waiting to hear since the moment you met.

“I think we’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time has finally come!!!!! Can they pull it off????
> 
> I won't keep you waiting too long for the next chapter...
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	6. Go Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNING***
> 
> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS PHYSICAL ABUSE & MENTIONS OF BLOOD, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH EITHER OF THESE TOPICS!!!

The common room was buzzing with energy, the officers making the most of their Friday evening. Reiner shot you the occasional glare but mostly left you alone, probably a result of Zeke’s warning.You felt calm and ready, you knew the plan inside out. It was up to you to kick things off. For the plan to be a success, a series of chain reactions had to go a certain way. Lucien had not informed you of the back up plans but you presumed they would be something along the lines of a break out, rather than preferred method of slipping away undetected.

The first time you had met Zeke and Reiner, the day your Father was murdered, the officers wore black uniforms. At the Camp the officers wore less formal uniforms that were light beige, an essential component of your plan.

The clock on the wall told you it was approaching 8pm, the sun had set hours ago and most of the prisoners were in the dorms. Since Zeke’s warning, the officers had been prohibited from drinking in the common room on evenings other than Fridays. Another important component to the plan. The only officers not in the common room were the ones on patrol.

As the minute hand struck 12, you take a deep breath and start doing your rounds.

“Another glass, Sir?” You ask, stopping to stand next to Zeke’s table. He was sat with the other senior officers of the Camp, Bertolt included. He nods, and you smile sweetly before retreating to the bar to swap your beer jug for a bottle of red. It was a French wine from Bordeaux, Zeke had it delivered directly to him, he clearly had an appreciation for that particular press.

Go time.

You gently pour the crimson liquid into Zeke’s glass but as you retract your hand, you ensure your sleeve brushes against it.

“Oh my gosh! Sir, I am so sorry!” You gush as the glass tips and the contents spills, creating a large stain across the breast and sleeve of Zeke’s blazer. “Please, Sir. Let me take your jacket to the laundry room immediately, I couldn’t bare to see it stain!”

“Useless woman.” He grumbles, undoing the buttons and slipping the jacket from his shoulders. He hands it to you aggressively, “If the stain doesn’t come out, you will be punished.”

He waves you away and Bertolt gives you an apologetic look, you bow your head profusely and scurry out of the common room feeling immensely proud of yourself. You check the pockets of the blazer and as you’d predicted, the bundle of keys is nestled in the fabric. Zeke may be a high ranking officer but he, and every other Crank at the Camp, had fallen for your innocent act and now it was paying off. You practically sprint down the stairs to the laundry room, heart thumping in your chest. When you arrive, Lucien, Marie and Jules are waiting for you, digging through the clothing bins in search of some thicker knitwear. You hand Lucien the keys and get to work on the stain.

“Good work,” He grunts, before turning to the others. “Lets go, we’ll meet on the fifth floor in exactly 30 minutes. Then it’s all systems go.”

The four of you nod in unison and then they leave you to your cleaning.

This part of the plan would be the most nerve wracking but thankfully, you had the stain removal process to keep you occupied. You cover the burgundy patch in salt and watch as the crystal grains begin to soak up the liquid. You hadn’t allowed yourself much time to think about the outside world, not wanting to get your hopes up, but freedom was so close you could almost taste it. You wondered where you’d go, Lucien had told you that he a destination planned for the night of the escape, but he’d kept the details to himself. It was probably a necessary caution in case one of you were caught. If any one of you were to be captured, you’d no doubt be tortured for information.

Without realising it, you’d bitten through your lip. You needed to stay calm, trusting in your comrades was the only option. If everything went to plan, you’d be out of Camp within the next hour.

With Zeke’s jacket now stain free, albeit damp, you make your way back up to the fifth floor via the servants stairway. Lucien is waiting for you at the top and reaches out to return the keys.

“We’ll be waiting for you,” he says as you take the keys and put them back in Zeke’s jacket. Lucien grabs your wrist and grits his teeth, “don’t do anything stupid.”

You nod. His face is stoic as usual but there’s a glint in his eye, he doesn’t let you go immediately and the two of you share a moment of silence in the stairwell. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you try to wriggle your wrist free, hoping to flee before Lucien could notice. There was no denying that you were attracted to him despite his cold demeanour, and it made you feel embarrassed. You hated his touch because it made your body feel static, you were drawn to him. The way he could see through any wall you attempted to put up was endearing, he had no time for masks, he wanted to see people for what they truly were. How could someone with such a mystical, almost supernatural ability to assess the inner workings of others be so emotionally mute? You’d often spent nights in your cot wondering what had happened to make him so detached, perhaps he had lost a close loved one, or a comrade in the field. Maybe he just wasn’t built that way. He’d always shown you empathy though, repeatedly making a point to check up on you.

Eventually, Lucien releases your wrist but his fingers linger on your skin. The hairs beneath his touch stand up on end. 

“I mean it, Violet. Stick to the plan.” He grumbles, before disappearing down the stairs, his hand brushing yours once more as he passes.

You swallow hard. His warning sounded so similar to the one your Father spoke moments before his death. The fire in your belly began to revive, for weeks it had been like a dormant volcano and Lucien had unknowingly reignited the flames. Nervous energy rocketed through your body, what if he got caught? What if they killed him? The thought of not seeing his grumpy expression again, not getting the chance to learn more about him, left an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. You'd already lost the man you loved most in the world and even though you did not love him, you were not keen on the idea of losing Lucien as well. 

No one paid you much attention upon your return to the common room. You sheepishly return Zeke’s blazer, he grunts a thank you and ushers you towards the bar. You make the rounds, collecting empty glasses as you go and placing them in the wash basin.

Zeke kept the officers on a tight leash, those that lived in the barracks were to leave by 9pm and the remaining offers were to retreat to their rooms. Reiner was the only exception most nights, you had surmised that Zeke let him torture you to keep him occupied and prevent him from causing trouble elsewhere. The heartless prick.

One by one, the officers withdrew from the gathering. You wipe down the tables diligently, drawing as little attention to yourself as possible. Your heart cannoned against your ribcage as 9pm approached, Lucien had calculated the plan to the minute and you were determined not to be the weakest link.

When Zeke got up to leave, the remaining officers followed suit, except one.Zeke gives Reiner a disapproving look before exiting the common room. You suddenly feel defenceless, you’d thought you were safe given Zeke’s warning, but this evening he had paid Reiner no mind. This was bad, very bad.

“Aren’t you going to come and collect my glass?” Reiner jeers from his table, “I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”

A shudder ripples through your body, you were alone with the man who’d tried to kill you. The man who’d killed your Father had left you here with him, knowing his intentions.

You collect his glass, he lets you. The wash basin is brimming and you need to get its contents down to the kitchen, but you know that if you attempt to leave before Reiner, he’ll attack you. If the glasses end up getting shattered, it would be too tempting to slice his throat with one of the shards.

You did a mental double take. How long had it been since you’d had such violent thoughts? A week? Two weeks? The faux safety Bertolt had bought you had been all too comforting, no wonder you weren’t feeling yourself. Could you even remember the number of strikes on your mental tally?

Like clockwork, Reiner heaves himself from his chair and lurches towards you. As always, you brace yourself.

“You may have protection now,” he hisses. “But nobody cares about what’ll happen to you when they’re all gone.”

He lunges for you, a flash of fist was all you saw, followed by searing pain in your jaw and the taste of blood in your mouth. You spit at the floorboards, frozen in shock. He jabs you again, this time he hits you between the eyes, your nose erupts and blood pours down your face. Your eyes well up but no amount of tears would be able to put out the inferno that burned within you; as quickly as it had disappeared, your hunger for revenge returned with a vengeance.

This time Reiner didn’t punch. Instead, his boot connected with your stomach, sending you sprawling backwards into the bar. Bottles and glasses crash to the floor behind you, shards of glass splintering at your feet. You eye them up, looking to identify the ideal weapon, but Reiner was too fast. He rushes after you, hands wrapping around your throat, lifting you off your feet. You swing your legs helplessly, hoping to connect with his groin but he tightens his hold.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you.” He spits, “going behind my back and telling lies, you deserve every beating you’ve gotten, traitorous little thing.”

The red mist had descended over his eyes once more.

“All you’ve done is make me even angrier.” He screams, throttling you.

You claw at his hands but your vision is blurred. He leans in closer.

“Your body will be mine.” He snarls, licking his lips. “And once I’ve had enough of you, your life will be too.”

With that, he releases you from his clutches and you crash to the floor, shards of glass pierce your bare legs and you let out a pitiful groan. Reiner laughs and you listen as his footsteps disappear from the common room.

You pull Lucien’s handkerchief from your pocket and swipe at your face, the entire cloth turns red. You manage to drag yourself to your feet using the bar as leverage. Your body was on fire, a mixture of pain and rage swirling within you like a vicious tornado.

Fuck the plan, fuck Lucien. Your mind was made up, how could you leave this place without delivering Zeke and Reiner their dues?

You pick out as many shards of glass from your legs as possible. Thankfully, none of the wounds are too deep but the blood had already run down to your ankles and was pooling in your socks. You wince, using every ounce of muscle to lift the wash basin to your hip before limping your way out of the common room and towards the servants stairway.

Jules is waiting for you in the kitchen and the moment he sees your wounded state, he rushes to grab a rag.

“What on earth happened, Reader.” His voice is panicked as he helps to clean away some of the blood. “We were worried, Lucien sent me here to get you. Come on.”

You allow him to lead you out of the kitchen door, mind occupied by the blind lust for Reiners blood. You wanted him covered in it, screaming and crying like the pathetic wimp he truly was under all that brawn. You’d take your time too, draw it out for as long as possible, return every strike he’d accumulated on your tally. You could remember the number now, clear as day, 347.

Jules led you to the supply shed located a few meters across the yard from the kitchen door, you keep low, but the night sky was all the cover you needed. The jeeps were parked in a line behind the shed, parallel to the fence. When you round the shed, the night does nothing to hide the look on Lucien’s face, it was a mixture of outright fury and apprehension.

“Brains.” He whisper shouts, “you handle the tyres.”

Jules nods and helps you to lean against the boot of your getaway car before disappearing into the dark to sabotage the remaining vehicles. Marie was nowhere to be seen, it must’ve taken her slightly longer to complete her portion of the plan.

“What the fuck happened?” Lucien grits, his teeth bared into a dangerous snarl.

You stare past him, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“Give me a gun.”

Lucien sighs and takes a step towards you but you hold out a hand to stop him. You don’t want anyone near you right now.

“Give. Me. A. Gun.” You repeat.

“Violet...”

“Give me a fucking gun.” There’s no way to stop the tears, “I am going to kill him.”

“Keep your voice down,” Lucien warns, he tries to approach again but you flinch, so he retreats.

“Give me a gun Lucien.” Despite the tears, your voice is steady. “Don’t make me take it, you can still escape.”

“Listen, brat. I’m not going to leave you here.” He says, this time you don’t stop his approach. “I’m not going to let you get yourself killed either.”

“I want revenge.” You sniff, eyes shifting to the gravel beneath your bloodied shoes.

Lucien grows impatient, he reaches out and cups your face with both hands careful to avoid the bruise forming on your jaw, he forces you to meet his eyes. They’re narrow and serious but there’s also something else, a faint glimmer of anguish washes through his stormy stare as you finally return it.

“What do you think will be better revenge, hm?” His face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath tickle your skin. “Killing two random Cranks, or preventing the assault on Paris?” 

Tears stream down your face, mixing with the blood and painting a picture of sorrow. You hear the car doors close quietly behind you, Jules and Marie must have returned, but Lucien’s focus remains on you.

“This is bigger than you, and it’s bigger than them.” His voice turns gentler now and he uses his thumb to wipe away the mess on your cheek. “The intelligence we’ve gathered is going to save Paris. Don’t you want to be a part of that? Don’t you want to go home?”

You choke back a sob. “He’ll come after me.” 

“Then he dies. If we ever see him again, I won’t stop you.” He grits his teeth again as if the words are poisonous. “I promise.” 

He means it, he’s a man of his word after all, you know that much.

The exhaustion hits you like a ton of bricks and you collapse forward, whimpering into Lucien’s chest. You don’t care that his face is probably screwed up in disgust in reaction to the affectionate moment, you were just grateful that he caught you. He doesn’t embrace you, just pats your head, before throwing you over his shoulder and laying you in the back of the jeep. You curl up on the backseat, cursing under your breath. 

Lucien was right. If your three accomplices had been successful, you currently had in your possession the Soviet’s invasion plans, code key, and a shit ton of weapons. He could’ve let you go, given you a revolver and left you to carry out your personal vendetta, but he didn’t. You clung to that fact. He wanted you to come with them, to deliver the intelligence to the Resistance so that you could help prepare the counter strike. He wanted to get you out, he wanted to keep his promise.

Your Fathers words rung through your head, _“make sure your revenge is sweet.”_

You offer a silent prayer in response, _“oh it will be sweet all right, old man. Sweeter than any lavender you’ve ever smelt, sweeter than any pastry you’ve ever eaten. Watch over me, you’re not going to want to miss this.”_

It brings you some comfort, enough to lift your head from your knees. Marie is sat next to you, a sympathetic look on her face. The engine grumbles to life beneath you and she leans across the backseat to whisper.

“Ready to see the show?”

You shuffle across and lean into her, welcoming the arm she wraps around your back in return. 

You weren’t prepared for how large the explosion was going to be, it was only supposed to destroy the front gates. A flash of orange and a deafening crack makes you jolt, and you can hear the distant sound of the shouting, though it was easily drowned out by Marie’s cackles. You hear Jules mumbling something about her always taking things too far but you can’t quite register much more of the conversation. The jeep whizzes through the debris and you peer out of the window, it’s too dark to see anything, your eyelids feel too heavy anyway.

You fall asleep not long after, nestled against Marie’s shoulder as she strokes your hair. The four of you speed into the night, finally free. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FREEDOM!!!
> 
> This chapter signifies the end of part 1 of the story, there will be 4/5 parts in total. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed reading so far, comments/feedback is appreciated, I love hearing your thoughts :) 
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon. 
> 
> <3


	7. A Smile.

The aches in your body rip you from your dreams, not that you remember what they were about once you come to. You keep your eyes squeezed shut, wishing for the slumber to take hold once more. You bury yourself in the duvet, inhaling the smell of the fresh linen. The mattress beneath you feels heavenly, moulding around your body perfectly. 

When you realise you have no idea where you are, or how you got there, you shoot up but instantly regret it. A fresh wave of pain scalds you and you can’t help but groan. It takes a few blinks for your eyes to refocus. You’re in an unfamiliar bedroom, the wallpaper is rather overwhelming, a floral pattern of pinks and greens. There’s an oak wardrobe, with a matching dresser. To your right is a bedside table, on it sits a glass of water and an empty iron candle stick holder. You guzzle the water in seconds, paying no mind to the voice in the back of your head warning you that you have no idea where you are and that it could be poisoned. You’re still dressed in the clothes you escaped in and you have to fight the urge to let the bed engulf you once more. You pull back the sheets, cringing when you notice the crusted blood stains decorating the white canvas. The floorboards creek under your feet and you grab the candle stick holder, just in case.

You tip toe over to the dressing table and peer at your reflection; you look hideous, your hair resembles a birds nest and there’s a light brown bruise under your left eye as well as along your jaw. You attempt to comb through your locks but it’s useless so you decide that it’s time to venture from the safety of your room. 

Creeping down the stairs, weapon poised to swing, you can hear muffled voices. Your presence is immediately noticed and you can hear them shush one another. The end of the stairs leads you into a cosy looking living room. Lucien is sat in a brown leather armchair next to a fire place reading through a file; he’s ditched his prisoner attire and now wears a loose cotton shirt with plain brown trousers. Marie and Jules are sprawled across the matching sofas, the coffee table between them is covered in paperwork. The far wall is adorned by a large book case, filled to the brim with different works. 

“Look who finally decided to wake up!” Comes Marie’s cheery voice, “oh my god, you look terrible.” 

You scowl and roll the candle stick in your wrist as a warning. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About a day and a half.”

You lower your weapon and scratch your head, had it really been that long? 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” You take a seat next to Marie on the sofa.

“You needed rest,” she attempts to stroke your hair, but fails miserably. “Don't worry," she chuckles, "I have a brush. Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“Tea would be great.” You nod.

Lucien looks up from his papers, “what were you planning to do with that?” His eyes flicker to the candle stick holder still in your hands. 

“Just a precaution,” you snipe. “Where are we?”

“Safe house.” He grunts, “Nevers.” 

“Who’s house is this?” 

Lucien waves his hand, Marie returns with a steaming teacup which you gladly accept. The tea is sweet and it warms your insides, you allow yourself to relax.

“So.” Lucien gets up from the leather chair and joins Jules on the opposite sofa, placing his papers on one of the many piles on the table. “I think it’s time we started being truthful with one another.”

“After you.” You nod and take another sip of your piping hot tea.

Lucien sighs, crossing his legs and throwing an arm over the backrest of the sofa. 

“My name is not Lucien. I am Captain Levi Ackerman, British Special Operations Executive, espionage unit B.” He speaks in English and nods towards Marie. “This is my Lieutenant, Hange.” He nods to Jules, “and this is Corporal Armin Artlert, also known as brains.”

You nod, urging him to continue. 

“Last year, the Allies signed a secret agreement to allow overseas operatives access to France. Our mission is simple. Steal intelligence, link up with the Resistance and delay the assault on Paris for as long as possible so that the Allies can organise themselves.” 

“The Allies?” You ask, switching to English yourself. "So there are other countries that want to help France?"

Levi nods, “Britain, the US, Canada and the remaining unoccupied European countries signed a treaty last year with the aim of pushing the Soviets back to their half of the continent. They’re taking their sweet time to assemble themselves, that’s why we’re here.” 

“Sorry we lied but it was necessary for obvious reasons.” Hange cuts in. “Your accent is very good, Reader!”

“Thank you, English is probably one of my better languages. I knew that you guys weren’t French,” you place your teacup on the table. You thought you’d be more surprised to hear that your new friends were actually British spies however, the more you’d learnt about them during your time at the camp, the more you’d been able to infer. You had already surmised that they were military, and Hange’s accent had given away that she was not from your country. “How long have you been in France?” 

“Almost a year.” Levi answers, “we were in Paris initially, but we struggled to link up with the Resistance.” He clicks his tongue, “so we switched priorities, hoping that providing them with some worthwhile intelligence might encourage them to work with us.” 

You smirk, “it’s good to hear they’re still as diligent as ever.” 

“Now, who are you?” Levi leans forward, “no bullshit.” 

“My name really is Violet Reader. My Father was Louis Reader, a senior member of the French Resistance. He was murdered by Zeke the day they captured me.” You explain. “I can take you to them, in Paris.” 

“Good.” Levi gets to his feet. “You can tell me more later, I can’t bear to look at you any longer. Lieutenant, run her a bath and find her some clothes.” 

With that he leaves the room. 

“Wait!” You protest, “what happened? What information did you manage to steal?” 

“I’ll fill you in.” Hange reassures, standing from the sofa and offering you a hand, “come on, Captain’s orders.” 

Hange fusses over you and you let her, your mind is elsewhere. You were deep behind enemy lines with a group of British spies, carrying stolen intelligence and weapons. It was certainly a dangerous situation to find yourself in but at this point, what did you have to lose? You’d no family waiting for you, no true purpose other than that of your accomplices. You actually felt quite excited, if the mission went as planned, you’d be back in Paris soon delivering essential information that might change the tides in the struggle for the capital.

...

“Eat.” Levi nudges a plate of fresh bread and cheese towards you. 

The four of you were sat around the dining room table. You’d bathed, washed your matted hair twice for good measure and were now dressed in a comfortable cotton shirt and a pair of loose linen trousers. You tuck in to the plate Levi had made for you, unaware of how hungry you really were until the food was right under your nose.

“Is there a town nearby?” You ask, as you tear into the bread, noticing the crunch. 

Levi nods and takes a sip from his teacup. You raise a brow at the way he holds it from the top rather than the handle, like he was protecting the contents from an invisible assassin who might want to poison it. 

“Yes,” Hange speaks with her mouth full which earns her a disgusted look from her Captain. “There’s a nice little bakery and a market.”

“We stayed here for a while before we came to Besançon,” Armin chimes in. “There aren’t many Soviets here.” 

You wolf down as much bread and cheese as your stomach allows and recline back in to your seat, one hand clamped across your bloated stomach. You could easily fall back to sleep if you wanted but you could tell Levi was waiting for you all to finish eating so he could address you. 

“Right.” He clears his throat, “Hange, brains. You two leave tonight. Take the jeep, there should be enough fuel to get you close to the Parisian border. Make sure you ditch and burn it out before you get there.” 

“Captain.” The two of them nod in unison. 

“What?” You exclaim, “why are they leaving without us?” 

“Come on, brat.” He rolls his eyes, “you’re smarter than that. It’s best we split up, I’ve made copies of all the intelligence we stole, that way if any of us get caught, there’s still a 50% chance of mission success.” 

You frown, “oh.” 

You were looking forward to spending more time with Hange and Armin, they were much better company than Levi. Travelling all the way to Paris with the grumpy Captain as your only companion was likely to be quite the headache. 

“Don’t worry, Reader.” Hange beams at you, breadcrumbs decorating her chin. “We’ll be waiting for you in Paris, it will only be a few days.” 

“Brains.” Levi grunts. The blonde boy proceeds to clear the table. “So, Violet. What’s your weapon of choice?” 

You hum, ignoring the dissatisfied look he gives you as you lean your elbows on the table. 

“Im partial to a revolver,” you explain. “Not a fan of rifles, I’d rather some throwing knives than one of those things.” 

“Interesting.” He drawls, nodding to Hange, who promptly leaves the room and returns with a large duffel bag. “Not on the table!” He barks, “its filthy.” 

Hange shoots him a quick glare and lays the bag on the chair next to you, unzipping it to reveal the arsenal they’d stolen from Camp. Your eyes are immediately drawn to a black leather thigh holster and you pull it out to inspect, there are three knives slipped in the pockets. The blades are a dull silver and leaf shaped and in serious need of polishing, the pommels are wrapped tightly in cord with a ring at the base. You test one out, flicking it with your wrist, it’s evenly weighted and looks pretty aerodynamic. 

“Nice.” You smirk. 

You root through the rest of the bag, there are three automatic rifles and a variety of handguns. You take out a nice looking colt and place it on the table, you’d shot one before, it handled well and was easy to clean, a good choice for a girl on the run. You take one last look through the collection hoping to find a revolver. One in particular catches your eye, there’s no mistake, you’ve seen it before. You pull it from the bag, the barrel and cylinder are silver and the handle is coated in black leather. The symbol engraved on the magazine clip confirms your suspicions. 

“This…” You run a finger over the Cross of Lorraine carved into the metal. “This was my Father’s.” 

It was the first gun you’d ever shot; you were around 11 years old when your Father had taken you out to a barn in the field across from your childhood home. It had felt so heavy in your childlike hands and it had taken you a while to grow the confidence to pull the trigger. From that moment on, you’d honed your shooting skills until your Father had got you a revolver of your own. You felt slightly overwhelmed but no tears threatened your eyes; if anything, you were grateful to be reunited with something that had once belonged to him.

“I know it was probably an accident,” you smile as you spin the cylinder, “but this means a lot to me, thank you.” 

“The universe works in mysterious ways,” Hange places a hand on your shoulder. “Are those your picks?” 

You nod, satisfied with the choice of weapons. The knives would come in handy should you ever be disarmed, or need to work in silence. The colt would make an excellent back up weapon, though you’d need to clean it out and familiarise yourself with the safety mechanism. The revolver brought you comfort; not only because it brought you closer to your Father but you were already familiar with its handling, you wouldn’t need much time to acclimate. 

You felt emotional waving goodbye to Hange and Armin that evening. Even though you understood that it was necessary for the missions success, you didn’t want to split up. You felt apprehensive about being alone with Levi; it would probably take around 3-4 days to get to Paris without a car, dependant on how long you stopped for and where, as well as whether or not you ran into any trouble. Whenever you thought of the raven haired man you'd be travelling with, your stomach flipped. Your crush on him was growing by the day and you wondered whether you’d be able to get him to drop his guard now that you were alone. You’d dropped yours, it was only fair he return the favour.

…

Levi was already awake when you trotted downstairs the next morning; he was sat in the leather armchair by the fireplace with a book in his lap and a steaming cup of tea in his hand. 

“Morning,” he grunts without looking up. 

“Good morning.”

You head to the kitchen to fix yourself a cup, there isn't any bread left for breakfast and you hope that Levi might let you head into the town later to get some more supplies. You were starting to feel a bit claustrophobic, you needed a taste of the real world. The size of the embers burning in the living room suggested he had lit the fire recently, indicating that it was unlikely you’d be leaving the house any time soon. 

  
With a sigh, you grab one of the chairs from the dining room and walk it to the fireplace, Levi does not look up as you place your chair opposite him. You tiptoe over to the bookshelf, the collection is healthy and you decide on a romance novel before taking your seat. The warmth of the fire is delicious and you quickly find yourself lost in the pages though every now and again, you can’t help but peer over them at the man sat opposite. He looks more relaxed than you’ve seen him before, his body language is composed but calm. He sits with his legs crossed, one arm slung lazily over the armrest holding his tea cup by the rim. You study his face, his brows were knitted, as though he was unimpressed by the events the author proposed. Despite the faint shadows under his eyes, he looks well-rested, you surmise that he too appreciates the nights on a proper mattress.

The pages before you were long forgotten, between fidgeting and staring at Levi, you’d completely lost interest in the story.

“Have you got ants in your pants or something?” Levi sighs, flicking his eyes up to meet yours.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s an expression,” he waves a hand, “sit still, you’re irritating me.” 

“Can’t we go into town or something?” You huff, “I’ve got cabin fever.” 

“No.” 

“Please,” you whine, “just for a short while, we need to get some food supplies anyway.” 

“I’ll go later.” 

You pout and fold your arms. Levi gives you an irritated look before returning his attention to the book in his lap, it’s a history of Anglo-French relations and looks like a total snooze fest.

“Come on,” you mewl, batting your lashes. “I want to see the town.” 

“You’re getting on my nerves,” Levi snaps his book shut. “If I take you, will you promise to be less annoying?” 

You nod feverishly and jump to your feet, Levi groans and follows suit. 

“Change into one of the dresses in the wardrobe,” he orders, “we’ll need to maintain some sort of cover. Make yourself look decent.” 

You do as you’re told, electing to put on a blueish floral tea dress and a sheepskin wrap around coat. Although spring was approaching rapidly, it was still quite cold out, so you pull on some stockings, a scarf and pair of wool gloves before strapping your knife holster to your thigh. You fashion your hair into a low bun, leaving out a few wisps to frame your face. Levi meets you in the upstairs hallway and grunts in approval at your attire. He had changed into some smarter black trousers, with a white cotton shirt tucked into the waist. He had a blazer style coat over his shoulders and as he reached to pull a flat cap over his head, you spot the leather straps of a double holster. 

“You scrub up well.” You tease.

“Very funny.” He clicks his tongue and takes a step toward you. “Are you armed?” 

You nod, “I’ve got my knives, no gun.” 

“Good,” his voice is stern and his eyes stormy. “Do not draw any attention to us, speak only in French and do not leave my side under any circumstances. If I give an order, you follow it, no questions. Understand?” 

“Yes, Captain.” You roll your eyes.

Levi is unimpressed and takes a tight grip of your wrist. “Violet, I’m serious. We may have escaped from the Camp but we are still in enemy territory, one wrong move and we’ll both be killed.”

“I know,” you chuckle. “I was only messing around. Don’t worry, I do not plan on getting caught. If I can fool the officers at the Camp, I can fool the town of Nevers.” 

The house you’d been staying at was located down a narrow country lane, there weren’t any neighbours, the perfect location for a safe house. Sessile oak trees line either side of the lane; the branches still bare but they stretched across overhead, during the spring and summer they would probably form a thick canopy creating a natural tunnel. It was a short walk to the centre of town, approximately 15 minutes, you stroll along mostly in silence, not wanting to further antagonise the already disgruntled Levi. 

You surmised that you were somewhere near the outskirts of Nevers, for the bustling town you had imagined was more like a slumbering village. It was quaint, with a small cobbled square lined with shops and cafes and a fairly busy outdoor market. The smell of coffee and freshly baked bread wafts under your nose and you can feel your stomach growl. Levi watches like a hawk as you inspect each of the stalls, you keep chatter with the locals to a minimum, simply content to wander the streets and marvel. It felt surreal to be back in the real world; you watch as the natives go about their daily routine, women hung clothes to dry over their balconies and chatted across to one another, men in overalls enjoyed their lunch breaks in the outdoor cafe seating. If it weren’t for the occasional jeep full of Cranks trawling through the streets, it would be easy to forget that war was waging. 

The common people of France had adopted a laissez faire attitude to the occupation; they knew better than to cause unnecessary trouble for themselves, they left the fighting to the Resistance and the politics to the government. It wasn’t like they didn’t oppose the occupation, that went without saying, it was more that they were aware of their role in the bigger picture. It was important that the Soviets felt like they were making progress; not only to prevent any excessive use of violence against the common people but also to allow the Resistance to operate from the shadows. You wondered if there were any members here, not everyone worked from Paris. The Resistance had a far-reaching network across France, the movement of intelligence was essential, though you noted that in the gear up to the assault on Paris many members would likely have retreated to the capital to offer their support. 

You couldn’t believe your luck when you came across a small perfume stall with oils and potions in glass bottles decorated beautifully with ribbon. You were about to plead to Levi that he buy you one, having seen the stash of Francs hidden under one of the floorboards at the house, but he had interrupted your train of thought by gripping your arm.

“Follow my lead,” he murmurs into your ear. “Link your arm with mine.” 

You do as you’re told, eyeing the black uniforms that step from a Jeep a few yards to your right. Levi leads you along the row of stalls, he looks calm but you can feel the tension in his arm. Your heart begins to increase in tempo as the Cranks approach. 

“Oi!” One of the officers speaks in a gruff voice, “I haven’t seen you before, what’s your business here?” 

Levi lifts his hat in greeting and flashes a brilliant smile. You were half shocked half impressed; you’d not seen such an expression on his face before and were thankful that it was still cold enough to hide the blush that rose to your cheeks.

“We’re visiting family, Sir.” He explains, “my wife is expecting you see.” 

You instantly bloat your stomach and rub intently with a sweet smile. Nerves creep up up your spine and you can only hope the officers buy your alibi. 

“Congratulations!” The officer chuckles, “I wish you a pleasant stay. The curfew here is 9pm.” 

“Thank you very much.” Levi nods, lifting his hat once more. 

The officers continue with their patrol and you let out an audible sigh of relief. News had probably spread about your escape but the two of you looked like a relatively wealthy couple, not ex-prisoners on the run. 

“That was quite the act,” you whisper, arm still linked in Levi’s. “You should smile more often, you know.” 

He rolls his eyes but his lips curl up into a slight smirk, your heart flutters. He was incredibly handsome and the more time you spent in his presence, the more you craved it when you were alone. 

“I’d like a bottle of lavender oil please,” you point back at the stall.

“No.” Levi grunts.

“Levi,” you whine playfully. “Your poor pregnant wife is having trouble sleeping and lavender oil will help, it would be terrible of her husband to ignore such a request.” 

He gives you an irritated look, “it’s a good thing I’m not really your husband then.” 

You feint hurt, bringing a gloved hand to your chest. Levi seems somewhat amused by your act and relents, pulling a few notes from his pocket and buying you two bottles of the sweet oil. The two of you trawl through the rest of the market, purchasing some food for the house as well as some canned goods for the journey. You wander around town for a little while longer but eventually, Levi decides that it’s time to return. 

You practically skip down the lane towards the safe house, feeling smug that you’d be able to put some lavender oil in your bath that evening. Levi trots beside you with the groceries, checking over his shoulder every now and again.

“Do you have a real wife back home?” You ask.

“No.”

“A girlfriend, then?” 

“No.” 

You give him a cheeky smile, “a boyfriend?” 

He scowls and shoves his free hand into his pocket. “You’re annoying me.” He grunts, “there’s no time for relationships in my line of work.” 

“That sounds awfully lonely, wouldn’t you want someone to come home to after a long mission?”

“What I want is irrelevant,” he pauses for a moment and looks at you. “Why should I burden some poor woman with the anxiety that I might not come home?” 

He has a point, you suppose, though it’s a rather morbid way to look at things. Any woman he were to marry would surely understand his disposition and accept the potential risks that accompany his career choice. 

“It wouldn’t be a burden to someone that loves you.” You point out. 

Levi looks thoughtful for a moment and your heart lurches, could it be that deep down he truly did desire a companion? You could understand his opposition to the idea, you couldn’t imagine yourself leaving your love behind to venture off on a potentially life threatening mission. The fact that he opposed it for such a reason allowed you a small glimpse of the real Levi, not the Captain he had to be so often. You decide not to pry further, though as your hand fumbles with the bottles of lavender oil in your pocket you can’t help but imagine what he might be like as a partner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some fluff me thinks...
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with the story, I know it's a slow burn, be patient!!
> 
> Hope you have enjoyed so far, chapter 8 should be out tomorrow. I wish I could draw, 1940s Levi in a flat cap would be so hot. 
> 
> <3


	8. What's Next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to it, listen to one (or all) of the songs I mention to help you picture the moment...

“So, tell me about where you’re from.” 

You’re opposite Levi at the dinner table. He had let you prepare the meal, you’d picked up two meat pies from the market as a treat and you’d paired them with some roasted potatoes, seasoned with fresh rosemary you’d foraged from the safe house’s garden. 

“I grew up in London.” He grunts, taking a sip of his wine.

From what you’d learnt so far, Levi enjoyed the finer things in life. Even though his line of work often required him to rough it, now that he was able to splurge slightly, he relished the opportunity and had spent quite some time choosing from the selection of local presses. He was also a clean freak, a trait that you could tell was going to irritate you, though it was probably better than him being a slob. 

“What’s it like?”

“Grey,” was his response. 

You roll your eyes, “come on, Levi. You know practically everything there is to know about me, much to my displeasure. We’ve got a lot of time to kill over the next few days, the least you could do is entertain me with some stories.” 

“My stories aren’t very cheerful.” He grunts, “I grew up as an orphan in London, was recruited by a covert organisation at 13 to spy on the gangsters running the workhouses. Then, when the Soviets started their war, the British government restructured their espionage units and SOE was born. I was shipped over to the Czech Republic to gather information. Now I’m here.” 

“So you haven’t been back to London since the war started?” 

“I’ve had brief breaks in between missions.”

“Do you miss it?” 

“Yes.” He admits, “pretending to be someone else for long stretches of time can be rather exhausting, not to mention the constant threat to your life.” 

“I can only imagine,” you sigh. “Though I admire your dedication.” 

“I wouldn’t call it that,” he says as he begins to clear the table, you remain seated and sip at your wine. He’d questioned you at first, to which you were offended, you felt rather embarrassed that he thought of you as a child. 

“What would you call it then?”

“I’m not sure,” he’s got his back to you, but you can picture his disgruntled expression at your probing.

“So why do you still do it?” 

“Because I want peace.” He answers instantly and turns to face you, “there are many evil people in this world, people that commit awful crimes and have no regard for the value of life. If I can contribute to the demise of such people, that’s good enough for me.” 

“I think you’d have liked my Father, he had a similar view of the world.” 

“Do you share that view?” He asks.

“I guess so,” you breathe. “I probably don’t know as much about politics or history as you or my Father. All I know is that I’m willing to dedicate my life to the pursuit of freedom. I’ve looked evil men in the eye, they don’t scare me. What scares me is the idea of evil men getting their way.” 

Levi grunts in agreement and continues shuffling around the kitchen, tidying up. 

“What’s next?” You ask. It was likely that the two of you would move on soon though Levi hadn’t actually shared any plans with you.

“We’ll head North tomorrow, sticking close to the border so we have plenty of options should we run into trouble.” 

“Will we be camping?” You suddenly realise the journey you were about to embark on would be rather treacherous, you were going to miss the comfort of the safe house. “Are we going to walk the whole way?”

Levi shrugs, “we’ll play it by ear. I am not a fan of camping, so I’d like to avoid that if possible.” 

You retreat to the bath not long after dinner, excited by the prospect of a soak in the lavender scented water. It brings you an indescribable feeling of comfort and brings back fond memories for you to contemplate. You’re sure to wash your hair in the water, hoping that the sweet scent would stick to your locks. You knew that Levi would want to use the bathroom after you but that didn’t stop you from milking your relaxation for as long as possible. The aches and pains in your body had started to dissipate, and the bruising to your face was fading nicely, you were starting to feel human again. 

You scuttle from the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy towel, looking forward to another delightful nights sleep on the divine mattress. It would probably be your last sleep here so you wanted to get an early night. 

You hear Levi clear his throat and stop in your tracks, cheeks flushing.

“You’re tracking water through the hallway.” He points out.

You spin to face him and poke out your tongue, keeping a tight hold of the towel. 

He clicks his tongue, “such a brat.” 

You were sure you saw his lips curl up but didn’t hang around to confirm your suspicions, diving into your room and slamming the door closed. It took you a moment to regain your composure, that was the second time he’d caught you in your towel. There was no robe in the bedroom, what else were you to do? Without your consent, the image of him shirtless flashed through your mind and you bit your lip. You hadn’t been with a man before, not all the way anyway. You’d had a brief fling with one of your childhood friends when you were 18 but it had fizzled out rather quickly, though you had always had an inkling that the feeling that it was over hadn’t been mutual. 

Your budding feelings for Levi were so different to the way you’d felt back then. It made you feel equally embarrassed and excited; the more you learnt about him, the more layers he let you peel away, only made the yearning in your chest grow. You scolded yourself, there was no doubt in your mind that your feelings were unrequited and you weren’t about to humiliate yourself by confessing. 

You pushed the feelings deep in the back of your mind as you slump into bed; your brain doesn’t give you a break though, Levi visits you in your dreams and the two of you enjoy a picnic in the fields of Provence.

…

The next morning, you’re in a playful mood and when you come to find Levi in his usual spot in the armchair, you don’t hesitate. You approach from behind and snatch the book from his lap, inspecting the cover with a frown.

“You’re reading the Bible?” You chuckle, “I did not have you down as a religious man.”

“I’m not,” he rolls his eyes. “I’ve just never read it before, some of the stories are quite funny.” 

Despite the secular nature of your country, your Father had paid no mind to religion and so you had grown up with an agnostic view of the world. You did believe in something, though you weren’t sure what, you liked the idea that not everything played out as a result of human nature alone. You take a seat in the chair opposite Levi and smirk, he knits his brows together.

“So you do have a sense of humour?”

Levi clicks his tongue. “I’m not a robot.” 

“What’s that?” You cock your head to the side at the unfamiliar English word. 

“A robot?” He tries his best to keep a straight face but you can tell he wants to laugh, his lips twitch and he exhales deeply. “A mechanical man made by scientists.” 

“Oh.” You smile, “are you sure you aren’t one?”

“Perhaps I am,” he sighs.

You giggle and Levi smiles, a genuine and alleviating smile. The knot in your stomach tightens. 

“You don’t do that very often.” You avert your eyes and fiddle with the hem of your shirt. 

“Do what?” 

“Smile.” 

“Well, we are in the midst of a war.” 

“Good point,” you hum. 

Silence falls between you and you flick your eyes to his face, he’s staring at you intently and his features have softened. You can feel your cheeks heat up and desperately search your mind for something to say but you draw a blank. 

“What will you do after the war, Violet?” He asks, resting his elbow on the armrest and bringing his chin to his palm. 

“I have to survive it first, I haven’t thought much about what comes after.” 

Levi nods, “what about when we get to Paris?” 

You frown, “I’ll introduce you to the Resistance.” 

“And then?” 

“What do you mean?” You question, “I’ll help to plan and carry out the countermeasures.” 

“You’re willing to put your life on the line?” 

“If that’s what it takes.” 

Levi exhales, “it’s a shame.” 

“What is?” 

“All of this.” He sighs, “do you ever wonder how your life might be if you had made different decisions in the past?” 

“Not really,” you admit. “I cannot change the past, I can only live in the now,” 

“True,” Levi hums. 

“What about you?” You ask.

“Sometimes,” he reveals. “I’m aware that it’s pointless but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about it.” 

“Is there a decision in particular you think about?”

“There are many,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve watched my comrades die, some of them on my orders. I’ve seen civilians caught in crossfire and can’t help but speculate over whether or not one of my bullets was the one to kill them. I’ve left people behind to die for the good of my missions. I see their faces, all of them, and I’m forced to replay my decisions over and over, wondering whether or not a different choice might have spared them.” 

You listen attentively as Levi unburdens, your eyes don’t leave his. You can see the pain in his expression, the way his face contorts at the mention of his past. You feel a dull ache in your chest and you want nothing more than to comfort him but you’re not sure how.

“Are you thinking about your decision to take me to Paris?” 

“Yes and no,” he breathes. “I think you’re more than capable of doing what I do, if that’s what you truly desire, but if anything were to happen to you, I would blame myself.” 

Your chest tightens and you pause. Levi’s eyes don’t waver, they bore into your own, daring you to look away.

“I appreciate your concern Levi, but I am not one of your subordinates,” you remind him. “You are not responsible for me, nor are you responsible for every death that takes place during times of war, regardless of your involvement. Hange told me she would give her life for yours, that tells me you’re not just a good man but a good Captain too.” 

He waves a hand, “we should eat breakfast.” 

Levi gets to his feet, ignoring your words. You huff and stand to return the book to its home on the shelf, your eyes flicker to the doorway where Levi has paused. 

“Thank you.” He grumbles, before disappearing into the kitchen.

You smile to yourself. Behind the mask he wore so well, Levi was clearly battling with his emotions. You doubted that he had many people to be so open with, it was probably important to keep up appearances around his fellow military men and women. You were different though, or so you hoped. 

The rain came as a surprise to the two of you, the torrent thrashed against the windows and the winds howled. The sky continued to thunder throughout the afternoon, blowing your plan to leave Nevers to smithereens. Levi had decided that setting off during a storm was unwise and that you’d either leave once it cleared, or wait until morning. You were currently sat on the living room window sill, staring out into the storm and counting the droplets as they raced down the glass. Levi was fumbling with something behind you but your attention was occupied with a particularly close contest between two raindrops.

“Do you know how to play chess?” He calls from the sofa. 

You hum, “I know how the pieces move but I doubt I’d be much competition.” 

“Come on,” he groans. “It doesn’t look like the storm is going to ease up any time soon, we’ll leave tomorrow.” 

The raindrops you had been watching conjoined, neither of them reaching the bottom. It was a shame, the contest had been a close call and you’d bet on the left droplet to win. You sigh and move across the room to slump onto the sofa opposite Levi. He’d already set up an antique looking chess board and he had an excited look on his face, like a child who’d found an old toy they’d deemed lost. 

Levi beat you in less than four moves the first few rounds and even took the liberty of pointing out your mistakes each time in the hope you’d get a better grip of the strategy. You could defend your king but that was about it, every time you moved offensively, Levi swooped in to checkmate you instantly. 

The two of you eat a dinner of leftovers on the sofa, finishing off the bottle of wine as you continue to play. You were growing bored of the game, it was tedious and no matter how many times Levi explained the blueprint you could not beat him. The wine flowed and as the hours passed, you noticed Levi relax more and more, he seemed to be enjoying watching you struggle. Eventually, you gave up, knocking over the chess pieces like a toddler, downing your wine and sprawling backwards onto the sofa. 

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Levi chuckles, finishing his own glass and reclining. 

“I think it’s safe to say that I won’t be taking up chess as a hobby,” you huff. 

“Well I appreciate you playing regardless,” he nods. “Or trying too.” 

“It’s not like I had anything else to do,” you jeer. 

“Touché,” his lips curl up into a half smirk. 

Silence falls between you, you’re not sure if its the wine but you can feel notable tension in the air. 

“What do you want to do after the war, Levi?” You suddenly ask, realising you hadn’t returned his earlier question.

He mulls over his answer for a while, “it depends.” 

“On what?” 

“A lot of things,” he exhales. “My orders, the state of the war, the Soviet threat.”

“Imagine none of those things matter, what do you, Levi, want to do?” 

He knits his brows together, as though he’d never been asked such a direct and personal question. 

“I’d like to go home, I suppose.” He admits, “move out of London and into the countryside, take my retirement cheque and live a quiet life.”

“Do you think you’d be able to cope with such a dramatic change of pace?” You chuckle. 

“Yes,” he smiles and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been on the run practically my whole life, I think it would be nice to just be myself, somewhere safe.” 

You hum in agreement, shuffling the pillows behind you so you can lay down, completely oblivious to the way Levi’s eyes follow your every move. 

“That sounds nice.”

“What about you?”

“You asked me that earlier,” you remind him. 

“No,” he waves a hand. “I asked you what you will do, not what you want to do.” 

You reflect. “To live in a house with some land, so I can grow my own herbs and vegetables. I’d have a flower garden too and vases all around the house to fill. I’ve always wanted a big open kitchen, with back doors that can stay open during the summer.” Imagining your dream home brings a smile to your face, Levi mirrors your expression, picturing it for himself. “A nice husband and children, as many as I can afford to raise, as long as I’m somewhere safe, that’s what I want, one day.” 

“Quite the dream,” Levi muses.

You sigh, “that’s all it is though. I don’t think France will ever be safe, not in my lifetime anyway.” 

Levi hums in agreement, “war doesn’t just kill people, it kills dreams too.” 

“If I had more wine, I would drink to that.” You nod. 

Levi scoffs and your eyes fall on his face, he chuckles to himself. You take a mental picture of the rare sight; drinking in the way his lips curl up so hesitantly, the lines that crease around his eyes, the way his nose scrunches. A wave of emotion washes over you when you realise that perhaps he needed you just as much as you needed him; he had pulled you from the abyss and you were preventing him from falling to the depths himself. 

It was getting late but neither of you seemed ready to part ways. It was quiet but there was no awkwardness, the two of you just looked at each other, silently communicating that you appreciated the other’s company. Levi was the first to get up, the mess you’d left on the table had probably been bothering him for some time. 

You wander over to the mantle piece above the fireplace. You’d spotted the radio there on your first night and could no longer fight the urge to test it out, you had one back at home and this model looked to be a similar design. You fiddle with the dial and the radio crackles to life, spluttering at first but eventually locking onto a station. You recognise the song immediately, your Emerson at home was tuned to the BBC so you’d grown up listening to music from all over the world. Glenn Miller’s 'moonlight serenade’ fills the room and you crank up the volume, closing your eyes and swaying to the melody. Levi appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. You don’t notice him watching you at first, too absorbed in the sweet sound of swing playing through the speakers. It had been so long since you’d heard music, your ears were incredibly grateful. 

You turn to your one man audience and smile, a little giddy from the wine. He seems to read your mind and approaches with one hand extended. You take it and he pulls you close, his other hand rests gently on your lower back. He takes the lead and the smile doesn’t leave your face as the two of you dance together in the living room. Mildred Bailey’s ‘darn that dream’ is the next song to play but the change in tempo doesn’t bother Levi, he twirls you effortlessly and every time your bodies seperate, he reels you back in immediately after. He must have done this before because he doesn’t miss a beat, you on the other hand are a bit more clumsy, but that doesn’t phase your partner. You gaze into his eyes, he gazes back and the two of you completely lose yourselves in the music. You were under his spell, intoxicated by the closeness, every sense heightened under his touch. He’s smiling down at you and you’re too absorbed in the admiration reflecting from his eyes to care that your cheeks are burning red. 

It didn’t matter that war was waging, all that mattered was this moment. 

Frank Sinatra and Tommy Dorsey’s ‘I’ll never smile again’ follows and you continue to let Levi guide you, following his steps, eyes only leaving his when he extends his arm to spin you around. He slows the pace, keeping you close to his chest. He lifts the hand holding yours to his lips and presses a gentle kiss on your knuckle. The hand once on your back moves to your face to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You’re utterly charmed, unable to look away. Levi gives you one last smile but you can tell its fake, then he disappears upstairs.

You sigh and remain in place for a moment, reminiscing over the memory of his touch. The radio stutters and you waltz across to switch it off before taking yourself upstairs to your room. When you hear Levi leave the bathroom you head there yourself but he’s blocking your path, a conflicted look on his face. You don’t want to push your luck, the window had passed and you felt slightly awkward. 

“Good night,” you nod and hurry past him.

You hear Levi sigh and he grasps your wrist, spinning you to face him. Your heart is thumping in your chest, you’re sure that if he leaned close enough he’d hear your pulse. You gaze up at him, daring him to kiss you. He seems hesitant, the inner conflict is evident in his eyes but he throws caution to the wind, gripping your face with both hands and crashing his lips into yours. You kiss him back feverishly, burying your fists in his shirt. He slips a hand into your hair and finds the back of your head, keeping you locked in the exchange. You don’t fight, if anything you melt under his touch and when his tongue swipes your lips, asking for access, you oblige. The two of you lose yourselves in each other once more; the moment either of you pull away, the other’s lips make chase, desperate to extend the connection for as long as possible. 

Eventually, Levi pulls away but not completely, he cups your cheeks and studies your face. Pouty and flustered, you stare back at him. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he breathes, dragging a thumb over your bottom lip.

You blink at him, drinking in his features up close. His eyelashes are much longer than you’d assumed and they framed his narrow eyes perfectly. 

“I’m glad that you did,” you whisper back. 

He chuckles lightly and presses a kiss to your forehead before disappearing into his room, leaving you feeling dizzy in the hallway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY HEART!!!!!!
> 
> I loved writing this chapter, researching the music that would have been on the radio back then was so fun!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, comments are welcome, they help me keep going! <3


	9. Cross-Country.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Sorry for the break, I wanted to re-plan the next few chapters and it took longer than I expected. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

A hand on your shoulder shakes you from your sleep, it takes a while for the grogginess to fade from your system but once you return to Earth, you shoot up in panic. The same hand quickly clamps over your mouth, preventing any scream for help from escaping. The moonlight peeks through the curtains, allowing you a glimpse of Levi leaning over your bed. Your shoulders relax but you still feel alert.

“Get dressed, pack a bag, only the essentials.” He whispers before disappearing from your room.

You do as you’re told, the sound of an engine running out front as well as the distant sound of shouting in Russian electrifies your senses. Had Zeke and Reiner found you? They couldn’t have, surely not. You curse under your breath, scrambling out of bed and shoving clothes and underwear into a holdall. You were still in your nightgown, changing would take too long so you pull your coat on overtop and stuff your socked feet into your boots. You push your Father’s revolver into your coat pocket, just in case, and strap on your thigh holster. The colt could stay in your bag for now. You’re sure to grab the remaining bottle of lavender oil, there’s no way you’d leave without it. Levi was waiting in the hallway, dressed in a similar outfit to the one he’d worn to the market, he pays no mind to your dishevelled appearance.

He rests a hand on your shoulder and whispers, “don’t worry, just stay quiet.”

You nod, though his words don’t quell your anxiety. He pushes past you into your room and takes a look out of the window, satisfied with whatever it was that he saw, he then leads you down the stairs. The duffel bag is waiting on the kitchen table, Levi’s neatly folded clothes cover the weapons and stolen intel. He kneels and peels back one of the floorboards, pulling rolls of Francs from underneath and stuffing half of them into his pockets, the other half into his bag. You pull canned food from the cupboards and wrap up the last of the bread before zipping your bag closed. Levi gives you a once over and nods, before gently opening the back door. The Russian shouts carry clearer in the nights air, you hear them discussing the best method to breach the safe house, followed by a loud bang at the door. Your stomach drops and Levi grabs your hand, leading you out into the garden and towards the back fence. He offers you a leg up but you ignore him and throw your bag over before scaling the fence with little trouble. He follows behind you and the two of you crouch in the dark. The ground squelches beneath your boots, still sodden from yesterday’s storm.

“Whats going on?” Your hearts in your mouth, hands clammy despite the chilly air.

Levi doesn’t respond, just brings his finger to his lips and points left, then gestures for you to keep low. He reaches for your hand and gives it a quick squeeze before setting off into the dark. The safe house garden backed onto a large field, with a moderately high hedge lining one side of the lane you’d walked on your way to the market. Between the bushes and the thick oak tree trunks, there was enough cover. As long as you kept quiet, you should be able to slip passed undetected.

Levi keeps a tight hold as he leads you into the night. He pauses briefly behind a tree trunk and the two of you listen as the officers ransack the safe house, cursing in Russian that you’d managed to evade capture. He gives your hand a small squeeze before setting off again, this time at a faster pace. You match him as best you can but your heart is racing and your stomach is doing somersaults; you’d been minutes away from waking to a Russian rifle in your face, the thought makes you shudder. Levi must have heard them and woken up just in time to get you out, you’d need to thank him later. For now, you needed to focus on keeping up with him. He leads you along the shrubbery, the darkness doesn’t seem to be an issue for him. You on the other hand, can barely see, and have to use all of your other senses to avoid stumbling over the roots.

Once you reach the edge of the field, Levi pauses again. You can see torch lights flashing from the direction of the safe house and gulp audibly.

“I told you not to worry.” He scolds. “We’re going cross country, are you ready?”

You nod, scared that opening your mouth might encourage the tears brimming behind your eyes to fall. Fear creeps through you like an unwelcome visitor. Hours ago you and Levi had shared a dance in the living room and you’d fallen asleep with a smile on your face; you were now covered in mud, cowering behind a hedge, hiding from men that would no doubt shoot on sight. Levi pulls you from your daze and the two of you continue to follow the adjacent hedge line, away from the house and towards the woodland that stretched for miles. You’d seen it from the window of the bathroom a few times, you took a brief moment to mentally thank whoever had scouted the safe house for ensuring such an escape route existed. Eventually the shouts and torchlight grow faint enough for Levi to slow your speed. Twigs and leaves crunch beneath your boots as you stumble blindly through the still-damp overgrowth. Levi releases your hand, assessing that you might need it to help keep your balance as the two of you plow forwards.

You don’t stop until the sun spreads a gentle orange across the sky; your legs feel like lead and your chest heaves, desperate to provide your muscles with more oxygen. Levi comes to a halt in a small clearing and takes a seat on a fallen tree trunk to catch his breath, he pats the spot next to him and you collapse, diving into your bag in search of the only flask of water you’d managed to pack. The two of you guzzle as much as you dare, making sure to leave enough should you need it later.

“What the fuck happened?” You shriek, examining your muddy legs and sodden night gown. “How did you know they were here?”

“I’m a light sleeper.”

“That was a close one.” You exhale, pulling your coat tighter around your neck. You were freezing and it didn't take long for your teeth to start chattering. “Thank you, Levi.”

“You should change,” Levi ignores the praise and gestures to your night gown. “You’ll catch a cold if your dress is wet.”

You hesitate and he gives you a quizzical look, before rolling his eyes and swinging his leg over the tree trunk to face the other way.

“Can you hold this?” You ask as you pull off your coat, your night gown was incredibly thin and if Levi turned his head he’d be able to see through it. He doesn’t, just holds out an arm for you to drape your coat across.

You root through your bag, changing in the middle of the woods would prove a challenge but you knew Levi was right. You pull on some woolen stockings and a knitted dress with a pleated skirt, it would keep you warm but would not restrict your movement, an excellent choice given your current circumstances. Now properly dressed you turn back to Levi, his hair looks rather messy at the back, and his undercut was starting to grow out. He’d need to visit the barbers when you arrive back in Paris, if you ever do. You tap his shoulder and he hands you back your coat, his eyes linger for a moment before he switches back to spy mode.

He digs through his bag and pulls out a map, mumbling some calculations under his breath. You retrieve the bread you’d stored in yours, as well as a small jar of jam, and go about preparing the two of you some breakfast.

“We’ll head to Auxerre,” Levi announces once he’s eaten. “It’s at least two days walk but if we come across a town or village, we can steal a car or break in somewhere to sleep. There’s no point going through Orleans, that means crossing two borders and we don’t have any papers.”

You nod, eyes glued to your lap. There was a deep pit in your stomach, now that you’d had a moment to gather your thoughts, the anxiety had returned.

“Hey,” Levi clicks his fingers in front of your face. “Don’t go spacing out on me, brat.”

“Did you see who it was?” You chew on your lower lip. “Was it him?”

“No,” Levi sighs.

You’re not sure you believe him, his face is as stoic as usual, the softer Levi you’d come to know the night prior was nowhere to be seen. It was impossible to read his expression but you had a niggling feeling that he was lying.

“It was him, wasn’t it?”

Levi clicks his tongue, “do you trust me?”

You nod.

“Then trust that I’m not going to let anything happen to you."

“You said we’d kill him if he came after us.”

“It wasn't him Violet,” Levi exhales and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re a smart girl, I wish you’d use that brain of yours a bit more often. What’s more important, revenge or our mission?”

“The mission.”

“Have you ever killed a person before?”

You shake your head.

“It won’t make you feel better,” he gives you a sympathetic look.

“Enough.” You spit, “I know you think you’re doing what’s best for me but if I see him again I will kill him.”

“Okay, okay.” Levi backs off. “If that’s what you really want.”

“Thank you.”

“Lets go.” Levi grunts and gets to his feet, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder.

…

It was late afternoon when you reached the outskirts of Prémery, you’d managed to make most of the journey via the countryside but the sounds of a busy road indicated you were close to reentering civilisation. Your legs were on fire and you wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and sleep until the war was over. Levi was well aware of your fatigue; he’d kept pace with you the entire journey and hadn’t complained once, but that didn’t stop you from feeling like a deadweight. He’d likely have been able to make the journey in half the time it had taken if you weren’t there, you wondered whether he was regretting his choice to take you on the cross country expedition. He’d come to a stop up ahead and was studying his map.

“Sit.” He orders, pointing to a tree stump.

“I’m sorry to be such a burden,” you breathe, downing the last of the water you’d saved.

Levi gives you a quizzical look, “you’ve been a prisoner for eight months.”

“I used to be really fit,” you pout. “I feel like I’ve lost all of my muscle.”

“You probably have,” he points out.

You watch Levi as he spends a few more minutes pouring over the map, then he brings his hand to his chin, seemingly deep in thought. You don’t have the energy to bother him, you were ready to surrender to whatever his plan was at this point, you just hoped that whatever it was it involved a rest.

“Wait here,” he commands, you show him a thumbs up and he disappears.

You loosen the laces on your boots, giving your swollen ankles some much needed room. You chuckle at how useless you felt, determined to dedicate some time to rebuilding your muscles once you were able too. Levi returns after a while and crouches before you.

“We’ve got two options.” He explains.

You sigh, “go on.”

“Option one, we wait here until dark and hope that we can find an empty house or barn to sleep in later, but if we can’t find anywhere we’ve no choice but to camp. We don’t really have the right supplies to do that and the risk of catching a cold at this time a year is high.” He explains carefully, his expression is blank but his eyes are shifty. “The second option is I go and scout us somewhere to put up and you stay here. I don’t want to leave you but I feel like it’s our best option. You need to rest, I don’t want to drag you around the town hunting for somewhere to stay when you’re not trained to do so…”

“Levi,” you breathe. There was an unfamiliar, worried tone to his voice and you thought it was best to shut him up. “The second option makes more sense. I’ll only slow you down. I have my weapons, I’ll stay here.”

Levi frowns, “I thought you would have put up more of a fight.”

“I’m exhausted,” you smile sheepishly. “Your assessment is spot on, I’m not trained at breaking and entering. If I come with you, I’ll probably just draw more attention to us.”

“The road is about 50 meters East, it’s relatively busy and there’s a possibility it’s a patrol route.”

You nod.

“Do not move from this spot, do you understand me?” Levi places a hand on your knee and adds in a less assertive tone, “please.”

“I won’t.” You assure him.

“If anyone finds you, you’re visiting family because your Mother is sick and can no longer look after you. You’re a young girl exploring the forests, hide the bags under some brush and keep your weapons on you at all times.” What he was saying was pretty obvious but you let him fuss, it would probably give him peace of mind, it also made you feel warm inside that he seemed so worried. “I don’t know how long I will be, if I’m not back before the sun sets, assume I’m dead. Ambush someone who’s driving alone and threaten them, get them to drive you to Paris, or do so yourself.”

“How about you just don’t die? Go off and find me a nice comfy bed for the night and I’ll wait right here.” You pat his head and he gives you an irritated look. “That’s better. Worry doesn’t suit you.”

Levi clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, “would you rather I didn’t?”

“No,” you smile and he holds your gaze for a moment before getting to his feet, waving a hand and disappearing once more.

…

From the position of the sun, you guessed that it would set in just over an hour. Levi hadn’t returned but you weren’t going to let yourself worry until it got dark. You remained glued to the tree stump whilst you waited, too scared to move incase he returned and told you off for disobeying his orders. You’d stretched out your legs and given your sore muscles a massage, picked some of the flowers growing nearby and pierced the stems to create chains, reorganised the contents of your bag and cleaned out your weapons.

You couldn’t help but think of your travelling companion. The yearning in your chest lay dormant; the dance you and Levi had shared had been so wonderful, almost dreamlike, and you struggled to keep the sensation of his lips on yours from your mind. You wondered whether you’ll ever see that side of Levi again; he was hot and cold, like two different people at times, and now that he’d been forced to abandon his original plans to travel to Paris by car from Nevers, it was unlikely that he’d snap out of spy mode until you were safe. Your feelings were confused, completely torn. You’d never met a man like Levi, he was so guarded, but beyond the walls he put up lay something you wanted to know more of. The walls he hid behind weren’t enforced with steel, they’d crumbled after the smallest of scratches and you wanted nothing more than to smash through completely. It was ridiculous to get caught up in the notion but your heart was unrelenting, making sure to to remind you at every chance it got that denying your desires was fruitless.

You hoped it hadn’t been a one time thing but you had your doubts. He’d reverted back to the detached persona you struggled to read, as though he’d forgotten the two of you locked lips the previous night. As much as you wanted to, you weren’t going to offer your heart to him after one moment closeness. You wanted assurances before you let yourself fall any further; you were dancing dangerously close to the edge of a cliff and needed to regain your balance. You weren’t going to let yourself succumb to the idea of a fanciful, war-time romance, you needed to keep your head. You had a role to play in his mission, you were Levi’s key to the Resistance and he was your key to going home. Now was not the time for feelings, so you locked the memories of Levi’s lips in a box, and pledged not to open it until the time was right.

Levi reappeared just before the sun descended over the horizon, pulling you from your thoughts. He looked defeated, which quelled your earlier dreams of a night on a comfortable mattress. He doesn’t say anything when he joins you, just roots through his bag with a frown.

“How was your recon mission?” You ask with a sweet smile, despite the misery of your current situation, you wanted to at least attempt to lighten Levi’s apparent foul mood.

“Shit,” he grunts. “There’s an empty barn about 15 minutes away, we’ll sleep there. Let’s go.”

“Wouldn’t it be possible to use some of the Francs to stay in a hotel or something?”

Levi gives you a bored look, “with what papers? Neither of us have any identity documents. Don’t ask stupid questions.”

You keep your mouth shut as you follow Levi to your destination, you knew he hadn’t meant to be rude, he was just frustrated by the lack of progress. Hopefully tomorrow would be more successful, if you could find a car, you could make the journey to Paris in a day. The barn was located on a stretch of abandoned farmland, the doors still locked, thankfully, but there were a few planks missing from the ceiling. It was going to be a cold night. Levi had explained that there were more Cranks in Prémery than he’d expected and so, breaking into a house, whether it be empty or not, was too risky. The barn was filled with large bricks of hay, and it smelt damp. Levi looked as disgusted as you felt as he led you inside, but it was better than camping.

“Put as many layers on as you can,” he orders, rifling through his bag to do the same.

Lighting a fire was out of the question, the two of you had no choice but to snuggle up against one of the bales. You ate a pathetic dinner of canned vegetables and leftover bread, promising one another that tomorrow you’d have a hot meal, no matter the cost. The two of you were leaning against one of the hay bales located towards the back of the barn, facing the doors, but out of sight should anyone look inside. Legs aching from the days walk left you feeling sleepy, but next to you, Levi was alert. An icy draft blew through the gaps in the ceiling and you pouted to yourself, compared to last night, this evening was absolutely miserable. 

“What’s up?” You whisper.

“Go to sleep.”

“It’s cold.”

Levi sighs and rests his head back against the hay for a moment, searching the darkness for something. Then he lifts his arm and pulls you closer. You nuzzle against his chest, grateful for the extra warmth and fall asleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh...
> 
> Our poor fugitives can't catch a break, just as they seemed to be getting along better than ever...
> 
> Hope you liked that chapter, feedback is welcome it helps me keep going :) I've been working on chapter 10 today, so hopefully it will be up soon.
> 
> <3


	10. Wolf Whistle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, I am SO sorry for the long wait. There's no excuse for it, I'm just a bad person. I really struggled to write this chapter so thank you for being patient, I'll do better :)

  
The sun peaks through the gaps in the barn ceiling, tickling your cheek and stirring you from your sleep. Realising that your head was resting in Levi’s lap, you shoot upright and stretch out, satisfied by the number of cracks your vertebrates make as the pooling fluid is released.

“Morning,” Levi grumbles, stretching out himself. 

He looks tired; not just physically, but mentally too. There was a grey cast to his skin and the bags under his eyes were noticeable; it made your heart pang, the thought of him forgoing sleep to keep watch whilst you snored in his lap. The yearning in your chest was still there, ever dormant, but you could not pursue any potential romance from the grave. You could revisit your feelings when you were out of danger. 

“Make yourself decent,” he orders. “We’ll head into town, steal a car and get ourselves to Paris. I’d like to sleep in a real bed tonight.” 

“That would be nice,” you grin, combing through your tangled locks with your fingers. “Do you have a base there or something? Where will we stay?” 

Levi nods, “don’t worry about that.” 

To put it simply, you felt gross. There was hay mixed in with the strands of your hair and you desperately needed a shower, the best you could do was splash some lavender oil on your wrists and neck to freshen yourself up. You change your dress and fix your hair to the best of your ability, though you didn’t have a mirror so it was quite difficult. Levi changes his shirt and keeps his back to you as you strip, always the gentleman. 

“How do I look?” You chuckle, pulling on your coat.

Levi rolls his eyes, “like you’ve spent the night in a barn.” 

You pout, but you know he’s joking because of the way his lips curl up ever so slightly. 

“You don’t look much better yourself,” you jest. “Did you sleep at all last night?” 

Levi just waves a hand, he’s not going to take inquisition from you. He’d probably done plenty of all-nighters on previous missions and wouldn’t want to make a fuss. It was hard to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. He usually seemed in control, but the break in at the safe house had clearly spooked him. So far, your journey to Paris had gone nothing short of terrible. You desperately needed a vehicle, the drive would only take four hours but travelling on foot would take at least another day or two and meant going cross country.

“Look at me,” you practically growl at him, fed up of being treated like a liability. Levi eventually meets your eyes, his are clouded by something you don’t recognise. “Levi, I trust you fully but you cannot expect me to blindly follow you if you’re hiding things from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything, brat.” He exhales deeply. “We just need to put as much distance between us and Nevers as possible. The safe house breach was a clear sign that someone is on our tail, we’re only half a step ahead of them right now and I don’t like our odds.” 

“Okay,” you breathe. “I’m not just a tag along you know, I can help.” 

Levi offers you a half hearted smile, but it quickly dissolves into a frown. “I promise I will get you to Paris.” 

You wondered whether his words were for you, or for him. Levi took vows like this seriously, he’d demonstrated that already. The break in at the safe house was a concern to you both, if you had been followed to Nevers, there was a chance your whereabouts was still known. Levi was trying to keep his unease from you, which you partly appreciated, but it was no good leaving you in the dark. You needed to trust each other completely if you were going to make it to Paris. 

You cock your head to one side and raise a brow, “I know.”

…

Prémery was a country village, with a wide cobbled promenade that ran through the centre. Flowers of pink and purple hung in baskets from the cafe and shop entrances lining the high street and the smell of fresh coffee wafted lazily through the air. 

Jeeps full of Cranks trundle along but the officers pay no notice to the two of you as you stroll along in the morning sunshine, arms linked to maintain your cover as a couple. Levi seemed tense, his eyes hawkish as you walk. The common people were unbothered by the Soviet soldiers patrolling, they went about their mornings as usual.

“How about a hot breakfast?” Levi asks.

Your stomach answers for you, rumbling feverishly. Levi chuckles and leads you into a quaint looking cafe with beautiful renaissance artwork decorating the exposed brick walls. He orders the two of you a cooked breakfast and you can’t stop your mouth from watering as the steaming plate is placed before you.

Ignoring the look of disgust Levi gives you as bean juice dribbles down your chin, you inhale the food in record time, grateful for the warmth as well as the taste. You savour your coffee as Levi finishes his food, his table manners were immaculate and the two of you must have looked like an odd pair to the other customers. 

Now finished with his meal, Levi reclines in his seat, throws an arm over the backrest and sips his tea, holding his cup in his signature fashion. Despite the fatigue, he looked as proper as ever, raven hair styled neatly despite the overgrowth. Contrary to your comment this morning, he looked incredibly handsome, you had to avert your eyes before a blush crept across your face.

“What are you gawking at?” He grumbles, pulling out some Francs from his pocket.

“Nothing.”

“Let’s go.” 

Years of experience undercover in the field allowed Levi to put on any mask he wanted; you on the other hand, had to hold your nerve to avoid spilling your breakfast over the pavement as the two of you left the cafe in search of a vehicle to steal. It was impossible not to swallow audibly every time a patrol vehicle passes you; you keep your head down, make small talk with Levi, and let him do all the surveying. 

It was then that you realised the true hilarity of your situation; wandering around a town you’d never visited before with a British spy, on the lookout for a car to steal so that you could make your way back to Paris to deliver stolen intelligence to the Resistance. If your Father could see you now, he’d be in tears of laughter. He’d always told you you’d do big things; he’d prepared you for his death, prepared you to carry on his will and devote yourself to France’s freedom. Your gender had never played a roll in things, you’d grown up scrapping with the boys your age, and you were undeniably a better shot than all of them. 

Despite all of your Father’s guidance, you couldn’t hold a candle to Levi. His ability to make split second decisions, the forward planning, the seemingly endless answers to every question you asked, all whilst running on no sleep, it was incredible. You wanted to prove your worth, prove to him that you could be useful too but in reality, you were better off following his lead for now. Your time would come when you returned to Paris, or so you hoped. You prayed Levi didn’t see you as a hindrance, you’d aided in his escape plan but since then, you’d been nothing more than a deadweight. 

“Stop spacing out, brat.” Levi mumbles, pulling you from your spiral of self-criticism. “Keep your wits about you.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Down here.” He nods, leading you away from the promenade and down a side road. 

Terraced houses line each side, with multiple cars parked along the pavement. Levi stops about halfway and before double checking over his shoulder, he turns to you.

“Go back to the bakery on the corner,” he instructs, peeling some Francs from the roll in his pocket. “Get some bread for later but more importantly, keep an eye out for any patrols. If anyone comes down this road signal me.” 

“How?” 

“Can you whistle?” 

You nod.

“Wolf whistle.” He can clearly sense your unease at the idea of splitting up, “I need you to back me up, Violet. Keep watch, get us some lunch for later, I’ll meet you at the end of the road in 5 minutes.” 

“Okay,” you exhale, passing Levi your bag and taking the notes from his outstretched hand.

“I’ll see you shortly,” he says, his fingers brushing against yours ever so slightly. 

You practically skip up the road, freedom was so close, you could almost taste it. The pastries in the bakery window had looked delicious when you’d passed earlier, you wondered whether Levi had a sweet tooth, would he appreciate you spending the extra Francs? Well, he would just have to deal with it because you fancied something sugary.

The bakery was empty, thankfully, and you eagerly pick out a fresh baguette, some locally made jam and two slices of lemon cake. It had always been your favourite, you hoped Levi shared a similar appreciation. Completely absorbed in your daydream about the upcoming road trip, you didn’t notice the body in the doorway and crash into the figure on your way out, almost dropping your goodies in the process. 

“Sorry!” You squeal, readjusting your grip to look up at the human obstacle. 

In that moment, every drop of blood in your body drained straight to your feet. Stood before you was one of the officers you and Levi had bumped into at the market, and you did not like the look on his face one bit. 

“Well well well,” he sneers with a wicked smile before leaning out of the doorway to shout in Russian, “Sergey bring the jeep around.” 

“Excuse me, sir.” You mumble and try to pass him but a strong arm across the exit stops you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The officer smirks, his French was adequate at best. 

He doesn’t give you any time to think, grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you over his shoulder. No amount of kicking and screaming seemed to work, the bakery owner just watched on in amusement, the contents of your haul now spilled across the tiled floor. The officers attention, now focused on the approaching jeep allows you a moment to reach for your thigh. You fumble blindly until you find the pommel of one of your knives, unsheathing it and plunging it into the Crank’s arm. 

“Arggggh!” He grunts, “you nasty little bitch.” 

He doesn’t set you down like you'd hoped, just readjusts his grip to hold you tighter against his shoulder. You can hear an engine pull up and you have to make a decision; do you signal to Levi or not? Your fingers move to your mouth before your brain can fully weigh up the pros and cons, a fire rumbles through your chest at the thought of never seeing him again, making the decision easier. You don’t wolf whistle, just blow as hard and loud as you can against your fingers, praying that he would hear and notice something was up. You’ve no idea what he would be able to do about it; there were far too many Cranks in the area to stage a shootout, that would be a death wish. 

You’re thrown into the backseat of a jeep, writhing and wriggling in the hopes of stalling your kidnap. The officer is irritated by your petulance, binding your feet and wrists with cable ties handed to him by his partner. Now unable to whistle, you scream and cry for help before a rag is stuffed into your mouth. Tears prick your eyes, the familiar feelings of fear and anxiety creep through your nervous system, throwing you back into the abyss Levi had pulled you from. 

You relax against the leather in defeat, sobbing in silence as the officers chuckle to one another in the front seats.

…

You’re not surprised to be taken back to the safehouse; the break-in was obviously linked to your capture, Levi had been right, there were people on your tail. The two officers you’d met at the market were sat opposite one another on the sofas smoking cigars; both of them had dark hair, the one who’d grabbed you in the bakery sporting a longer look, the other, Sergey's, was cropped. You'd been left in the corner for hours now, still gagged and bound, watching as they'd shared a bottle of wine and enjoyed a dinner of meat and potatoes.

You had no answers to the questions that ran through your mind, but trying to make your inner monologue shut-up was useless. Waves of terror and apprehension wash over you, threatening to pull you under the current. You had been so close, and now you were to be plunged back into misery. You weren’t going to make it to Paris, you probably wouldn’t see Levi, Hange or Armin again, let alone your friends. The ache in your chest was unbearable at the thought of Levi, stressed and panicked that his ticket to the Resistance had been snatched from beneath his nose. Would he have followed? You didn’t know the dates of the planned invasion but given the number of carts and jeeps heading towards Paris, it was likely to be soon. Would he prioritise getting himself, and the intel, back to Paris incase Armin and Hange had not made it? 

The officers had moved from the sofa to loom over you, making no effort to prevent the ash from their cigars from falling into your hair. You glare up at them as best you can, though you know the fear in your eyes reflect how desperate you felt. 

“Remove the gag,” the longer haired officer barks, indicating he was the senior of the two. 

Now able to breathe properly, you refill your lungs.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” You ramble, “untie me!” 

The officers break into laughter, turning to one another to mimic your frightened expression. 

“Stupid girl,” Sergey spits, lifting his boot to press down on your thigh. “You thought you could slip away?” 

“How do you know who I am?” You snarl, “you weren’t at the camp.” 

The senior officer chuckles before pulling a crumpled photograph from his pocket, it was the one taken of you on your first day at the camp.

“How naive of you to think Reiner wouldn’t send anyone after you.” His laugh is so condescending you wonder whether it had all truly been a pipe dream. “We thought we’d get you at this house but your boyfriend must have got you out in time, I wish I’d put a bullet in his brain.” 

“We’ve been after you this whole time,” Sergey chimes in. “Reiner will promote us now.” 

You cringe internally, Reiner wasn’t the most senior officer at camp but you could tell from the badges on his blazer that he was somewhat superior to some of the others. He’d sent people after you, of course he would have, you felt like an idiot for not being more proactive in assuming so. You had almost allowed yourself to let go of the anxiety and anger that had twisted your muscles and poisoned your blood over the last year; none of those feelings returned this time, only vanquish. Unless you could find a way to escape from the safe house, you were a goner. 

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your little holiday,” Sergey presses his boot harder against your thigh, making you wince. “You’ll be a prisoner again tomorrow.”

“Take her upstairs, tie her to the bedframe.” The senior officer orders. “Reiner will be here in the morning.” 

Sergey throws you over his shoulder and makes his way upstairs, you don’t resist, there was no point. It was late evening; you hoped you were being taken upstairs to sleep and not for another, more perverted reason. The officer is not gentle in following his orders, he ties your wrists to the bedframe, forcing you to lay in a crucifix position. Your feet remain bound together.

Reiners face torments your mind, sending shivers down your spine, so cold you were sure you felt your body temperature drop. You could almost feel his unwarranted touch, goosebumps prickle your skin at the thought, a physical manifestation of your revulsion. Was this the end for you? Were you to be his play thing for the rest of your existence? 

You’d allowed yourself to hope over the last few days, allowed yourself to dream of future you, helping unite the British contingent located in Paris with the Resistance, and leading the counter strike to protect the capital. You’d let yourself entertain the idea of a romance with Levi, new friendships with Armin and Hange, a fresh start you’d craved so desperately for over a year. 

No matter how much you wriggle your wrists, the bindings don’t budge. You don’t stop the tears that stream from your eyes, they tickle your cheeks and pool in your ears. It wouldn’t be too difficult for you to steal Reiner’s gun and shoot him or yourself, should you need too. Such a conclusion was beyond gloomy; suicide wasn’t a befitting end for someone like you and if you were to kill Reiner, what would you do next? The only reason you had got so far in the first place was because Levi had led the way; though you trusted your wits, you doubted you’d be able to travel halfway across the country on your own. 

Thats when it set in, the undeniable, overwhelming feeling that you’d lost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, things have taken a nasty turn, our Reader can't catch a break!! 
> 
> I've made a tumblr acc: findingviolet where I'll sometimes write one-shot type stuff, requests are open but I have commitment issues so let's see how it goes lol. I will update the next chapter ASAP I promise not to leave you hanging again. 
> 
> <3


	11. St. Jacques.

Sleep never comes.

No matter how heavy your eyelids feel, your mind is alert, running through all the possible scenarios morning might bring. Your shoulder joints are burning, the ties digging harshly into your wrists, leaving pins and needles in your hands. 

You estimate that its early morning, you’d heard the officers come upstairs and retire to the other bedrooms hours ago, the house had been silent ever since. They said Reiner would be here in the morning, your last hours of ‘freedom’ were to be spent tied to a bed frame in agony. Great.

The bedroom curtains are drawn closed so you couldn’t gauge just how near dawn was, all you could do was stew in the darkness. You prayed for some kind of divine intervention; a lightening strike, a fallen tree blocking Reiner’s route, a hurricane, anything to save you from your tragic fate. You had a good idea of what was in store for you; abuse, both sexual and physical, humiliation, torture perhaps, general misery. If there was a God, you hoped they’d take pity on you and step in. 

Even though it made you feel pathetic, thinking of Levi made your eyes water once more. He’d probably be in Paris by now, tucked up on a comfortable mattress finally getting a good nights rest now that he’d shrugged you off. At least the intelligence would have made it, you knew that was the most important thing.

The mental back and forth was starting to give you whiplash; you felt helpless, distraught, but at the same time, you wanted nothing more than to bust out of your bindings, steal a gun and murder every Crank in a 30 mile radius. You had once felt so strong, like you could handle anything, but the turbulence of the last year had reduced you to nothing more than a snivelling child. You knew that you were capable of more, that you really did have a good chance of making a positive impact on the state of war but it was as though the universe was doing everything in its power to prevent you from being the catalyst for change you so desperately wanted to be. Your physical prowess, as well as your mental capacity, had been chipped away at steadily and you didn’t like what had been left behind. 

Weak. Useless. Burdensome. 

You knew your Father would be cursing you from the heavens, should he hear your inner monologue. If he were here, he’d tell you not to give up hope, to fight until your last breath. You wanted to honour his principles but you felt exhausted, not just because you hadn’t slept, but because you’d been pushed to your maximum. Would you even have the energy to fight Reiner should he force himself upon you? Were you really ready to surrender yourself and accept defeat?

Your sobs were audible now, bubbling up your throat and cutting through the silence of the room. The sound of your sniffles was almost enough to disguise the shuffling coming from outside the bedroom door, was it really morning already? You groan and try once more to wriggle free from your bindings, but alas, they were just too tight. 

You hear the rattle of the doorknob, the creak of the hinges, as the door swings open. You whimper and squeeze your eyes shut, but your sobs were getting out of control. You writhe around, hoping and praying for the mattress to swallow you up and send you to hell. In all honesty, you’d rather such a fate, Reiner was the only devil you feared. You hear footsteps approach the bed but daren’t open your eyes, fearing the face you’d see leaning over you would belong to the man who’d tormented you for over a year. 

“Please, no” you whisper cry.

A familiar voice shushes you and you snap your eyes open to see the unmistakable shadow of Levi leaning over your form. 

“Levi?” You whimper, unable to believe it to be real. You blink repeatedly, urging your eyes to develop night vision abilities to confirm your delusions. Had you fallen asleep? Were you dreaming? “Is it really you?” You ask breathlessly.

He shushes you again but a gentle stroke of your cheek confirms that it truly was him. He’d come for you after all, your chest constricts around your heart, squeezing it tight. You were grateful of course, but in a way the fact you’d needed rescuing in the first place only re-enforces the feelings of helplessness that had tormented you all night long. 

Levi’s presence was enough to calm your sobs and his nimble fingers make easy work of the bindings on your wrists and ankles.

“It’s okay, Violet. I’m here now.” He mumbles under his breath, helping you to sit up on the bed.

“WhatareyoudoinghereIthought…Reinertheofficerswhatare-”

Levi clamps his hand over your mouth, putting an abrupt end to your ramblings. He waits a few moments for you to stop hyperventilating, but you’re in no mindset to start strategising. You launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and weeping into his shoulder. He has to take a step back to absorb your momentum, but he doesn’t fight with you. He strokes your hair gently, his other hand planted firmly on your lower back. He holds you for a while, rocking you from side to side. The moment is fleeting but you appreciate it more than you’d ever be able to vocalise; no matter how precarious your current situation, you were beyond grateful that he’d come for you and you were determined to repay him for all that he’d done.

“Violet…” He whispers as he pulls away, “we need to move.” 

“Sorry.”

“Its okay,” he tucks some stray hairs behind your ear and waits for you to steady yourself. You look up at him with a steely determination, which earns you a smirk, barely visibly in the dark of the room. “Good girl.” 

Levi pulls his gun from its holster, there’s an added length to the barrel, a silencer. “I’ll deal with the officers, steal one of their uniforms and we’ll take their jeep to Paris. Wait here.”

He pushes a gun into your hands, you can tell by the weight it’s your Father’s revolver. 

Levi disappears and you slump back onto the bed. You feel lightheaded, your shoulders ache and the skin around your wrists and ankles feels sore to the touch. Nevertheless, he was here. You felt guilty for doubting him, knowing full well how seriously he took his vows. It doesn’t take him long to do the dirty work and when the light in the hallway flickers on, you know he had dealt with the officers. You creep out from the bedroom to see him buttoning up the stolen uniform. The trousers were a little too long, you couldn’t help but giggle, Levi brushes it off with a scowl. 

The sound of birds tweeting tell you that morning was fast approaching, you needed to get on the road as soon as possible. Levi is thinking the same and leads the way downstairs. You clock his bag on the sofa and pout.

“Where are my things?” 

Levi rolls his eyes, “I came here on foot. If you think I was going to carry an extra bag full of your dresses then you’re sorely mistaken.” 

“Oh,” you frown. 

“Tch.” Levi scoffs, unzipping the bag and rifling through it. He hands you your thigh holster, “I have the colt too.” 

You’re still not satisfied. Levi chuckles to himself before pulling out the thing you were hoping for from the inside pocket.

“I didn’t forget,” he hands you the vial of lavender oil. “I did buy it for you after all.” 

You give Levi a teary eyed smile and hold the bottle to your chest. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” 

He rolls his eyes, “you can get more in Paris, let’s go.” 

Dawn was approaching and the air was crisp, the sky a deep shade of indigo with a beacon of fuchsia to the East, preempting the arrival of the sun. Now dressed in Soviet uniform, and with Sergey’s identity documents folded away in his pocket, Levi instructs you to hunker down in the back seats underneath a scratchy blanket. You don’t complain and as the engine rumbles to life, pulling away from the safe house, you allow yourself to relax, drifting off into a pleasant sleep.

…

Levi shakes you awake a few hours later and tells you to get up. You do as you’re told, wincing from the pain in your shoulders as you stretch out your limbs. 

“Where are we?” You ask, approaching Levi who’s leaning up against the bonnet, he’s changed out of the stolen uniform and now sports a pair of tweed trousers and a knitted jumper, a flat cap pulled over his head. You’re in the countryside somewhere, at the side of a desolate road.

“Paris.” Levi nods, offering you a canteen of water.

“Really?” You chuckle, taking a gulp. “How long was I asleep?”

“A while, it’s midday.” Levi points to the map in his hands, indicating your location. 

“St. Jacques, huh.” You smile to yourself, “this is where I grew up.” 

Levi raises a brow, “it’s nice.” 

“Why have we stopped?” 

“To talk,” Levi turns to you. “I want to apologise, I shouldn’t have let you go off on your own. It was my fault that they took you away again, that must have been awful for you and I am sorry.”

You knit your brows together, Levi’s wearing a guilty look that doesn’t suit him at all. 

“Levi,” you sigh. “It was not your fault, that’s ridiculous.” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “I promised to get you to Paris but I was careless. If you hadn’t whistled, I would have had no idea where you were and you’d be back in the hands of that creep as we speak.” 

“But I’m not, you came for me, I wasn’t sure that you would. I’m sorry for doubting you.” 

Levi waves a hand, then runs it through his hair, chuckling to himself. “You’re getting me into all sorts of trouble brat, you know that?” 

You frown but Levi doesn’t let you counter.

“You say you grew up here? Would you like to go home before we meet up with the others?” 

You’re not sure how to answer, the thought of revisiting your childhood home fills you with a sense of longing but you’re not sure if it’s safe to take a detour when you’re so close to your goal.

Levi reads your mind, “we can, if you want to. There aren’t any Soviet officers around these parts, the last ones I saw were at the checkpoint back near Montargis.” 

“Okay,” you breathe, leaning over to take a look at the map. “It’s not far.”

“Let’s go then, come sit in the front.” 

You wind down the window and let the Parisian breeze blow through your hair, familiar farmland smells fill your nose, reminding you of summers spent frolicking through the fields with your childhood friends. It takes around twenty minutes to reach the city and you ditch the jeep down a side road a few blocks from your home. Oh, how you’d missed the cobbled streets and iconic Parisian limestone buildings. There’s a buzz in the air; children play chase in the streets, mothers scold them from the balconies as they hang their laundry from drying racks. You had even missed the smell of sewage that plagued your neighbourhood, Levi scrunches his nose in disgust but doesn’t comment. He walks silently beside you as you breathe in the atmosphere of your home, feeling a little giddy as the hustle and bustle overwhelms your senses. 

Your house sits at the end of a narrow street and as it comes into view, your breath gets caught in your throat. The ivy that once framed your front door had grown out of control without the watchful eye of your green-fingered Father and now covered the downstairs windows and most of the porch. Levi hacks at the vines with a pocket knife before using it to pick the lock, he steps aside so you can enter.

As you’d expect, everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, but beneath that everything was in place. You step gingerly through the hallway, running your hand along the shoe cabinet. You check out the living room first; the cracked sofas you’d always hated sat in their usual spots, the bookcase loomed in the corner, there was even a coffee mug on the table, left by your Father the day of his murder. Levi follows you quietly and heads straight for the mantlepiece, blowing the dust from the photo frames and inspecting the images. 

You feel the tears brimming your eyelashes and dart upstairs to the safety of your bedroom. Everything is exactly where you’d left it. Though the girl that had left this room no longer existed, in fact, she had died that day alongside her Father. Part of you wished you’d opted not to visit, the memories attached to every item you saw were painful and there was nothing to prevent them from replaying in your mind. 

You reach under your bed in search of a bag. The dust in your wardrobe makes you cough. You pull out a selection of dresses and cardigans, as well as a warmer coat than the one you had on. You pack some underwear, two nightgowns, a hairbrush and some hair pins. You inhale deeply before opening the draw in your bedside cabinet, the pocket photo album is there but you daren’t look through it. You felt emotional enough as is. 

You clean yourself up in the bathroom, rinsing your hair in the sink and giving your body a once over with a flannel before changing your clothes. It takes you a while to muster the courage to go into your Father’s bedroom, it had been somewhat off limits most of your life, the two of you vowing to respect one another’s space. The floorboards creak beneath your feet, his bed was made, dresser cluttered with aftershave and other knick-knacks. You rummage through his bedside drawers, collecting the valuables you knew were kept there, his and your mother’s wedding rings, a silver plated watch, a gold chain that had once belonged to your Grandfather. You then move on to his wardrobe, pulling out a few of the knitted jumpers you knew would bring you comfort.

You find Levi leaning against the bookshelf, nose buried in the pages of one of the horror novels your Father liked. 

“Do you mind if I take some of these?” He asks, looking up once he notices your presence. “Your Father had a good taste in books.” 

“Take as many as you like, it’s not like there’ll be anyone here to read them.” 

Levi nods, taking his time to scan the spines. “How do you feel?” He asks with his back still to you. 

“Like I want to leave,” you admit. 

He turns to you with a frown. “Violet, it’s important to…”

“I appreciate you bringing me,” you cut him off. “But the girl that lived here is dead, I’m ready to start fresh.” 

“I understand,” Levi nods, pulling a final book from the shelf to add to his pile. He gives you a sympathetic look, “but she’s not dead.” He adds, “she’s just grown.” 

His words make your eyes water, you curse your tear ducts, how could it be possible to cry so much in such a short space of time? The dam inside you starts to crumble and a fresh wave of waterworks trickle down your cheeks. You need to unload.

“I feel so weak,” you sob. “I’m such a burden, I’m useless.” 

“Cut the crap, brat.” Levi cuts you off, abandoning his pile of books on the shelf and closing the distance between you. “I’m sick of you talking like this, you’re strong as hell, you got that? You’ve been through a lot in the past year, but you’re still here, still fighting. Don’t forget that.”

You blink up at him, “I’m sick of feeling unsure of myself.” 

Levi sighs, brings a hand to your chin and tilts your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You said you were ready to start fresh, right? So do that. You’ve nothing to be unsure about, you’re brave and smart, the Resistance needs you.” 

He doesn’t let you respond, just leans in to link your lips. You drop your bag and bury your fists in his shirt, desperate to keep him close for as long as possible. His lips brush against yours gently and delicately. The two of you move in sync, complimenting each other perfectly, like the final two pieces of a puzzle that had taken weeks to finish. Time slows and you relish in the exchange, before you’re forced to part for some much needed oxygen. You remain inches from one another for a moment, forehead to forehead, basking in the unspoken but mutual affection. 

You don’t expect Levi to address it, and you’re right to. He runs a thumb along your cheek before taking a step back and retrieving his books from the shelf. 

“We should go,” he mumbles.

“Where?”

“HQ.” He nods, “it’s time for you to meet the rest of our contingent.” 

You pause at the gate outside your house and take a moment to gather yourself. Perhaps you’d return here after your mission, though the idea of living alone wasn’t particularly appealing. You weren’t sure what the future held for you but it was somewhat comforting to know that there existed a home for you in St. Jacques should you ever need it. Levi follows you outside a few minutes later, with a pile of books under one arm, a framed photo in the other. He offers it to you hesitantly. 

“I thought you might want this.”

You study the image, it brings you a mixture of pain and longing. Given that your Mother had died minutes after your birth, it was hard to miss her, you didn’t know her. What hurt more was the effect it had on your Father; he’d often entertain you with stories about her carefree spirit and iron will. You’d grown accustomed to the pained expression he’d try to mask whenever you spoke of her, he’d never remarried, nor entertained other women as far as you were aware. She had been the love of his life, and the fact that you reminded him of her in so many ways was enough to help fill the void she’d left in his heart. She had golden hair like yours, and you’d inherited the dimples illustrated in the photograph of her in your Father’s arms. You didn’t have a copy of this particular photo in your album, you’re not sure why you didn’t pick it up for yourself but now you held it, you’re glad Levi had done so for you.

“Provence,” you smile. “We used to visit all the time, that’s why I like lavender oil. It was her favourite.” 

“I see,” Levi hums. 

“Thanks.” You hug the frame to your chest. “Not just for this, for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you, Levi. I promise to make it up to you, prove to you that it was all worth the trouble.” 

Levi waves a hand, “I’m sure that you will,” he mutters, but his expression is conflicted.

You shrug it off and follow him back to the jeep, taking one last look over your shoulder at your childhood home, you say good-bye to the old you. 

To the captive you, to the tortured you, to the fugitive you. 

You’re ready to discover the new you, to re-build yourself, stronger, braver, smarter. No more were you to be the naive girl, following Levi like a lost puppy. It was time to be pro-active, to achieve all that your Father had hoped for you and more.

You are Violet Reader, daughter of Louis and Clara Reader, the best shot of everyone in your neighbourhood, the smartest girl in your class, speaker of five languages.

You are a survivor, a vigilante, and you’re ready to take your place in the Resistance and give the Soviets hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of Part 2 of the story!
> 
> Reader and Levi have finally made it back to Paris, after all that stress, hopefully they'll get a chance to relax a bit!
> 
> What do we think of our Reader's revelation? She's ready for whatever the universe throws her way...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, as always thank you so much for reading. Comments are appreciated!
> 
> <3


	12. Associate.

Levi brings the jeep to a halt in a quiet back street, it was practically out of gas at this point. It was early evening and you were hungry, tired and incredibly nervous. You were glad to know that there’d be a couple of familiar faces, but you weren’t sure what else to expect. Levi had been vague with the details, telling you that he wasn’t going to speak for the Commander, you would meet him yourself. 

You follow Levi’s lead down a street with terraced houses and iron railings. The front gardens have neatly trimmed hedges, with buds showing early signs of bloom as Spring approached. Levi comes to a stop outside the house at the end of the street and removes his cap.

“You need to see a barber,” you jest.

“Thank you for the observation.” Levi scoffs, “are you ready?”

“No,” you smile sheepishly.

He sighs and unlatches the gate, before heading up the path towards the door. Your blood pressure is through the roof, your heart thumps against your rib cage, threatening to break through. Levi rings a buzzer and a few agonising seconds pass before the door swings open, and Hange rushes through the frame. 

“You’re back!” She squeals, pulling you into a tight embrace. “What took you so long?” 

You’re a little stunned, but soon melt into the hug. 

“Cut that out, Hange.” Levi grumbles, pushing past into the house. 

“Nice to see you too, Captain.” She giggles, taking your hand and leading the way. 

The house looks immaculate, with polished oak wood floors and a wide staircase. Levi has disappeared down the hall somewhere, Hange takes you through to the kitchen area, where Armin is slaving away over a mound of vegetables. 

“Reader!” He exclaims, “it’s so good to see you again, welcome to our makeshift home, how are you doing?” 

“I’ve been better,” you admit, “but I’m happy to see you.” 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Comes an unfamiliar voice from behind you, “you must be the famous Reader!” 

You turn to see a young man, with a closely shaved head and kind eyes. He introduces himself as Officer Connie Springer. He looks too young to be a spy, but who are you to judge. He’s followed by a brunette girl with a pretty face, Officer Sasha Braus, she greets you and welcomes you to the ranks before hurrying to join Armin, who immediately tells her off for trying to steal from his pile. 

It’s a little overwhelming, but warm and welcoming at the same time. The dynamic between the Brits is incredible, you can tell they’re a tightly knit unit. They chat with you about their time in France, trading stories over encounters with Cranks and their failed attempts to link up with the Resistance. Hange informs you that she and Armin had arrived two days ago and had encountered no trouble, you don’t have a chance to fill her in on the turbulence of your own journey because Levi has appeared in the doorway. 

“Captain,” the quartet salute in unison.

He waves a hand, “with me, Reader.” 

You follow him up to the third floor, and he pauses outside one of the many closed doors you’d passed on the way. He knocks twice before a stern sounding voice calls for him to enter. The office is large, with bay windows overlooking the street and a desk in front. Behind said desk sits a man with neatly combed blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and prominent eyebrows, he’s sat back in a leather chair with his legs crossed, a lit cigarette in one hand. 

“Take a seat, Ms Reader.” He gestures to you with his free hand before taking a long drag from the cigarette in the other. 

You hear the door close behind you and check back over your shoulder to see Levi lean up against the wall, he gives you a nod of encouragement and you take the seat opposite the Commander. 

“My name is Commander Erwin Smith,” he begins. “I am in charge of the British Special Operations Executive contingent located here in Paris, tasked with gathering intelligence on the Soviet advancements and formulating counter measures to delay their next assault on Paris. Captain Levi has told me a lot about you, Ms. Reader, but I’d like to hear more.” 

You nervously clear your throat, “my name is Violet Reader, Sir. My Father was Louis Reader, of the Resistance. I grew up in St Jacques, before my Father was murdered by Cranks…sorry, Soviet officers and I was taken prisoner at Camp Besançon. That’s where I met Levi, Hange and Armin.” 

“I think you’ve missed some vital details, Ms. Reader.” The Commander chuckles, “Captain Levi is one of the best operatives I know, he tells me he wouldn’t have been able to complete his mission to the level of success achieved if it weren’t for you.” 

“I just wanted to help, Sir. I had access to some of the offices, and the officers spoke freely around me, I was able to pick up some bits of information here and there.” 

“So I’ve heard,” Erwin takes another long pull from his cigarette, before stamping it into an ashtray and leaning forwards onto the mahogany desk, hands clasped together. 

You shift nervously in your seat, you thought Levi’s presence was unnerving, but Commander Erwin was something else. His aura was that of a lion, you felt like a mouse. 

“Are you going to help us, Ms. Reader?”

You nod, “I’d like to, Sir. I’ve no family left, nothing to return to in St. Jacques. Regardless of whether you want my help, I’ll still go and find the Resistance.” 

“You are quite something, aren’t you?” Erwin chuckles, his eyes flicker to the man stood behind you. “I’d like to recruit you, as an associate, how would you feel about that?” 

“I’d be honoured, Sir.” 

“Are you willing to follow orders? To dedicate yourself to the cause?” 

You nod.

“You’ll be operating under my orders, not that of the Resistance. Is that acceptable to you?” 

You pause and think it over, you weren’t particularly sure who of the Resistance was located in Paris, nor who was in charge. You had a good idea but it would only be confirmed once you’d investigated. Your best bet was probably to stick with the Brits, you knew them, trusted them, felt safe with them. They shared the same goal as the Resistance, as you, it was a no brainer. 

“Yes.” 

“We can offer you safety, training, a passport, asylum should you need it.” He reels off, “anything you require, you need only ask.” 

You nod.  
“And should you change your mind, or wish to go home, I will honour your wishes.” You hear Levi exhale from behind you, “I don’t think it it would be fair to hold you to the court marshal requirements of the British Army.” 

“Thank you, Sir. I won’t let you down.”

“Very well.” Erwin claps his hands together, “Levi, have Sasha prepare Ms. Reader a room. Dinner should be ready shortly, I’ll give you a few days to rest and recover from your ordeal. Then we can get to planning.” 

…

You enjoy a rather lively dinner with the British contingent, though your social battery doesn’t last as long as you’d have liked. Armin and Sasha had prepared quite the feast of roasted chicken and vegetables, served with a gravy so tasty you could have drank it from the jug. The chatter was lighthearted and your new friends did their best to include you; Hange was her usual self and you’d missed her cheery personality ever so much, she was without a doubt the ringleader, with Sasha and Connie part of the circus. Armin was quiet and reserved, but joined in every now and again. Levi and Erwin sat at the head of the table, a little ways away from the rest of you, talking under their breaths about something of no concern to you.

You excuse yourself early, desperate for a soak in the iron clawed bath Sasha had shown you earlier. Your room was located on the second floor; it was luxury compared to your bedroom at home, with a queen sized mahogany bed, dressing table and matching wardrobe. You’d been provided with a pile of towels, as well as a robe which you wrapped around your frame before making your way across the hall to the second of the three bathrooms. You scrub the grime from your skin, hair and nails. You empty the last of your sweet oil into the water, knowing that in the next couple of days you could venture out into the Parisian markets and find some more. Despite it being empty, you’re sure to keep hold of the vial Levi had got you, a momento from your journey together, if you will. 

The moment you slump onto the goose down mattress and bury yourself between the feather-filled duvet, you indulge in what can only be described as a blissful, sixteen-hour snooze-fest. 

You’re left alone, to which you’re grateful, only stirring once to use the bathroom when it’s still dark outside. By the time you resurface from the sheets, its past lunchtime the following day. You don’t feel like getting up yet, opting to wrap yourself in your bedsheet and collect your thoughts. There was some sort of commotion going on downstairs, you could hear Hange cackling over something, before the slam of the front door. You tip toe from your nest, still wrapped in the duvet, to the front facing window and peek outside, you spot Hange, Armin, Sasha and Connie skipping down the street. You surmise that they were probably heading to the market to restock the kitchen.

Crashing back onto your mattress, you sigh aloud in delight. You felt refreshed, safe, even a little excited about your new found circumstances. Violet Reader, British Special Operations Executive associate had a nice ring to it. You grin to yourself, but an aggressive knock at the door yanks you from your day dream.

“Are you decent?” Comes Levi’s gravelly voice from the other side of the wood.

“Not really,” you call back, pulling the sheets tighter around yourself. 

“Get ready.” 

“Where are we going?”  
“Out, don’t take too long.” 

You hear his footsteps head back downstairs, he was always so blunt. You skip across to the bathroom to wash and brush your teeth. Now that you’ve got some pieces from your own wardrobe, you change into one of your favourite dresses, a scarlet knee-length number with a belted waist. You roll on some stockings and finish the outfit with your fur-lined black coat, your Father had spent some extra money on it a few years ago as a treat. Your freshly washed hair had dropped into loose curls and after a brush through, your reflection in the mirror tells you to leave it be. 

Levi is waiting for you in the kitchen, sat at the dining table enjoying a cup of tea, one of the books from your Father’s shelf nestled in his hand. It seems he’d visited the barbers whilst you were out, his hair had been tidied up and was styled neatly, no longer covering his eyes. He’d shaven too, the shadow of stubble across his jaw nowhere to be seen. You fix yourself a quick brunch of bread and cheese, along with a large mug of coffee.

“How did you sleep?” He asks, standing from the table to place his teacup in the sink. He’s dressed more casually than you were used to, a beige quarter zip roll neck jumper paired with a pair of smart tweed trousers. It wasn’t fair for him to look so handsome, it even annoyed you a bit. 

“Very well, the bed was amazing.” You grin, “so, where are we going?” 

“You’ll see,” he nods, leading the way to the front door and retrieving his trusty flat cap from the coat rack. 

The two of you take a leisurely stroll into the centre of Paris, it was a weekday, so most of the locals were at work. Levi takes you to a quiet cafe, located near the river Seine, and the two of you take a seat outside. You’re a little confused, not wanting to think of this as a date. You and Levi still hadn’t spoken about your feelings, you were beginning to wonder whether he actually had any for you, or any at all for that matter. He orders a tea, you opt for hot chocolate. It’s still a little chilly out, but the transition into Spring had begun. 

“We’re going to play a little game,” Levi announces once the steaming mugs arrive. 

“Oh?” You cock an eyebrow. 

“A people watching game,” he nods. “We’re going to pick someone walking past, and work out their backstory. Who are they? Why are they here? Where are they going?” 

“Okay,” you hum. “Is this a spy training game?”

“Something like that.” Levi grumbles, “you first.” 

You spot a man in a business suit wheeling a suitcase, he’s wearing a fedora style hat, and there’s a wad of documents tucked under his arm. 

“Him.” You signal with your eyes, Levi follows your gaze. “He’s wealthy, a banker perhaps. He’s on his way back from the country house in the South, Cannes maybe. He’s got a tan, maybe his socialite wife forced him into buying it, so they can spend most weekends in the sun.” Levi’s lips curl up slightly in encouragement, so you continue, piecing together the story. “He’s returned home on his own, for business reasons he says, but really he’s just sick of the kids. He’ll spend the weekend with a mistress or a prostitute, before his family come home next week and the cycle restarts.” 

“Interesting assessment.” Levi smirks, “a little judgemental, but not bad for your first go.” 

“Show me how it’s done then.” 

You go back and forth for a while, as the afternoon sun warms the sky and the river glistens under it’s rays. Levi is a pro at the people watching game, his analysis was always based on the smallest details, like a wedding ring or the style of shoe. You got better as the rounds went on, picking up on his analysis style and using it to make your own assumptions. It was actually quite fun, figuring out the lives of innocent passers by. 

You can’t help but stare at the man sat opposite you, every one of his features so angled and defined, like his face had been sculpted on purpose to torture the long list of women he’d encounter throughout his adult life. You’d joined the list against your will, never usually one to pay attention to those of the opposite sex. You’d had a brief fling with one of your close childhood friends at 18 but you’d decided you were better off as friends, though you’d always had a creeping suspicion the feeling hadn’t been mutual. Levi was on another level, and the fact he seemed so unattainable to you made you want him even more.

Levi seems to notice the vacant look in your eyes and scoffs. “Earth to brat,” he clicks his fingers in front of your face. “Why do you always do that?”

“Huh?”

“You’re always spacing out.” He clicks his tongue, “am I boring you?”

“No, no,” you shake your head, “sorry.” 

“What’s on your mind?” 

He leans forward, there’s a somewhat mischievous look on his face, one you haven’t seen before. You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks and curse yourself, Levi had demonstrated how observant he was, there was no way he wouldn’t be able to see straight through you. He chuckles lightly and his eyes soften a little, you scowl and turn your nose up.

“Alright, that’s enough for today.” He sighs, “you did well.” 

You mumble thanks and recline back in your chair.

“So, Violet.” You adore the way your name sounds on his lips, you’re not sure why he uses your first name so freely but you’re certainly not complaining. “How are you doing?” 

“Huh?”

“Well,” he hums, “this is the first time we’ve not been in mortal danger since we met, we’re no longer on the run, no longer captives or fugitives. How do you feel?”

You think it over, he’s right. Ever since you first encountered Levi, or Lucien, there’d been some ominous threat looming over you. Now, you felt like you’d reached the top of a hill that had taken weeks to climb, and the view was worth it.

“I feel safe,” you nod. “Determined, motivated, and not by some petty desire for revenge. I feel like I can make a difference.” You bite your lip, a little embarrassed by your ego. “I want to make a difference, I’m sick of this war. I’m not tied down by anything, or anyone, I’m ready to fight back.”

“Is that so?” Levi raises a brow, “most girls your age would be happy to settle down, run a household, raise a couple rugrats.” 

“I’m not like most girls,” you bite back.

“That’s true,” Levi chuckles.

“I’d like that life someday,” you smile. “But not yet, being a housewife sounds rather boring, I’ve still got some fight left in me.” 

Levi sighs, eyes tracing your face for any hint of doubt. He doesn’t find any. 

“What about you, Levi? How are you doing?”

“I’m tired,” he answers immediately, stormy eyes boring into your own. “The lifestyle you consider boring sounds quite appealing to me.” 

“Really?” You scoff, “I didn’t expect that.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t have you pegged as a romantic.”

“I didn’t say anything about romance, that has nothing to do with it.” Levi shrugs.

You giggle a little, “that sounds more like you.” 

Levi frowns. You’re not sure whether to push the conversation further, you were desperate for some sort of clarity over his feelings. He’d kissed you, twice, but never had he opened up to you about what that had meant to him.

“Have you ever been in love?”

He gives you a quizzical look and mulls over his answer.

“Why do you ask?” He responds once he’s done.

“I’m curious,” you shrug. “You often have an interesting view of such things.”

Levi frowns, “no, I haven’t.” 

“Oh.” 

“Have you?”

You shake your head, “I don’t think so.”

“You’d know if you have.” He takes a deep breath and eyes your reaction.

You cock your head to one side, “how do you know that if you’ve never been in love?”

Levi shrugs, “just because I haven’t experienced it for myself doesn’t mean I don’t understand the concept.” 

“So you’re a commitment-phobe?” You tease.

“No,” he huffs.

“What then?” You pry, “you’re a handsome military man and Hange said you’ve always had plenty of admirers.”

“I’ll need to remind her to keep my private life off her lips then.” He leans back in his chair, “I swore off women a long time ago.” 

“Why?” It’s impossible to hide the surprise in your voice, “did you take a vow of chastity?” 

Levi scoffs, “no, we’ve discussed this. I don’t believe it’s right to pledge myself to someone given my line of work.” 

“That’s a boring answer,” you huff.

“It’s a boring topic.” 

You’re starting to feel irritated, he’d completely closed himself off, only giving you half-arsed, vague answers. You felt as though you had made progress and that he was beginning to show you what lay beneath the concrete armour he so often wore. 

“Why are you doing this?” You narrow your eyes at him, you felt hurt that he had kissed you and was now pretending he didn’t have feelings. 

Levi clicks his tongue, “doing what?” 

You know he knows what you’re talking about, you can see it in his eyes. You’d learnt to look past his blank expression, he hid them well but his emotions were always evident in his stormy stare.

“You kissed me…”

He cuts you off, “I told you I shouldn’t have.” 

“But you did, twice.” You point out. “If it meant nothing to you, I’d rather know.”

Levi sighs and runs a hand through his hair. The tension was electric, every particle floating in the space between you charged to the maximum. He could practically read your mind so it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume he knew where you were trying to guide the conversation, no matter how much he tried to resist. 

“It didn’t,” he finally says, albeit reluctantly. “But that doesn’t mean I should have done it, I apologise.”

“For what?”

Levi’s brow twitches, a tell tale sign that he’s nearing the end of his tether.

“For not sticking to my principles.” He exhales deeply, you can hear his foot tapping under the table.

“What principles?” 

That does it. Levi slams his fist against the table, teeth gritted. You’re suddenly grateful you were sitting outside and there were no other customers in earshot.

“I cannot hold people dear to me, I do not deserve it.” He rages, “and even if I did, why would I? Only to see them ripped away from me.” 

Your mind replays the conversation you’d had at the safe house, where Levi had mentioned that he’d watched many of his comrades die. You mentally scold yourself for being so dense, he’d practically given you the answer to the question you sought. He didn’t want to burden someone with the worry that he might not come home, that must have been because he would have felt the same. What if his woman found love elsewhere whilst he was away? Or even worse, what if his love was a fellow military woman and was killed in action?

“Oh,” you breathe. “I think I understand.” 

“No you don’t.” He slams his fist again, the contact makes you jump. You know he’d never hurt you but it was a shock to see him so animated. “I cannot get close to you, Violet. Not here, not now. Regardless of whether I want to or not.” 

He looks at you with a pained expression, like a wounded dog. It makes you angry.

“Stop treating me like I’m some sort of pining, helpless maiden!” You cry, “I’m just as much an agent in the field as you. Only I’m not so fearful of my own feelings that I’d deny them because one day, somewhere down the line something bad might or might not happen.” 

“I couldn’t bear it.” He shakes his head, “I’ve always been alone, it’s for the best.” 

“I didn’t think of you as weak, Levi.” You scoff, pulling your coat tighter around you.

“Weak?” He snarls, “is it weak to forgo your feelings for the benefit of someone else?” 

“What if someone else doesn’t want you to do that?” 

You cross your arms. Levi pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Are you going to deny yourself love for the rest of your life?” You question.

Levi looks up at you from behind his hand, he looks completely lost, like he’d never been faced with such a moral dilemma before in his life. He probably hadn’t; throw any situation at Levi the spy and he would make a decision on the spot, but just Levi, the Levi with feelings and desires, had no idea how to handle himself. 

“Have you ever even tried?” Your voice is gentler now, and you hesitantly reach your hand across the table.

“Once,” he speaks through gritted teeth and drops his hand from his face, resting it inches from yours. “I didn’t love her but I knew that she loved me and I entertained it for a while. We were on a mission in the Czech Republic together. She was killed by a sniper, 5 metres from where I was stood, I watched her bleed out.” 

You gulp and run your fingers over his knuckle, he doesn’t bat your hand away.

“That must have been really difficult for you, I’m sorry.” 

“I won’t do it again.” He declares, shaking his head. “I can’t.” 

“Okay,” you breathe. 

Levi looks up at you, face contorted in anguish. There are tears forming in your eyelashes and you didn’t think that crying would help the situation, so you get to your feet, keeping your face turned towards the river.

“We should head back.” 

Levi grumbles something under his breath and stands from the table. He pays the waitress, and the two of you walk back to HQ in silence. As you approach the front gate, Levi reaches for your arm, his grip gentle but assertive.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice,” he grits. “I usually keep my temper on a tight leash.”

“It’s fine,” you lie. “I appreciate you opening up, must have been hard to speak about her.” 

Levi gives you a confused look but you pull away from him and make your way to the door. You knew you sounded like a jealous brat, but you couldn’t face him right now. You weren’t interested in listening to whatever else he had to say; you felt guilty for being annoyed with him after he’d explained why he was so against giving himself to someone, but you couldn’t help it. You don’t expect that he’ll forgo his principles again, no matter how much you wished he would. 

You spent the rest of the evening sulking. Hange had teased you, asking if you and Levi had a ‘lovers tiff.’ You didn’t understand the colloquial English term and brushed it off, taking yourself to bed straight after dinner and burying yourself under your duvet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, poor Levi :( 
> 
> What do we think of Commander Erwin? Our Reader has landed herself an important role with the British operatives, let's hope she can show them everything she has learned. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I appreciate all of your comments so much <3
> 
> P.S. I'm on tumblr: findingviolet, where I've been writing a jujutsu kaisen mini-series. Requests are open for whatever, I'll also post updates/sneak peaks about this story on there :)


	13. Olive Bread.

You can barely make out the path in the woods, the only light being that of the moon. You’re running as fast as you can but make up no ground. Reiner’s evil laughter echoes from behind you and no matter how many steps you take, the sound continues to haunt your ears. The hairs at the back of your neck are on end, as though his touch was only millimetres from your skin. You reach a clearing, and Levi is there, waiting for you, arms open. He’s smiling. You try to tell him to run, that Reiner was coming but no sound leaves your mouth. The next thing you hear is a gunshot, and then Levi’s crumpled on the ground, covered in blood, writhing around as the hole in his chest spews scarlet all over your hands. Reiner comes into vision, sneering down at you, gun pointed at your head. He reaches a hand out to your throat and all you can do is scream. 

…

You jolt from your sleep, covered in sweat, panting heavily. Your bedsheets are twisted around your neck and you claw at the fabric, desperate to rid yourself of the strangled sensation you still felt. You reach for the oil lamp at your bedside and flick it on. 

“Just a dream,” you breathe to yourself, bringing your knees to your chest and hugging them tight. 

The door creaks open and Levi appears in the gap, a confused expression plastered across his face. His hair was a little messy, you’d obviously woken him up. You look up at him, your bottom lip gives you away.

“You okay?” He asks, taking a hesitant step into your room and closing the door behind him.

You nod, running a hand through your hair, pushing the dampened locks from your face. You hear Levi’s footsteps approach the bed, followed by a dip in the mattress. A lone tear rolls down your cheek as you turn to face him. He’s perched at the edge of your bed, his night shirt open, collarbones on full display. Despite the horror of your dream, you get the intrusive urge to dig your nails into his skin and roll him on top of you. 

You scold your brain for coming up with something so inappropriate, now of all times. 

“Did I wake you?” You whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“My room’s next door,” he mumbles. “You were screaming my name.” 

You choke a little, burying your face in your knees as heat rushes to your cheeks.

“That’s embarrassing.” 

“What sort of dream was it?” 

You peek at him through your hair, he’s wearing a mischievous look.

“It wasn’t like that,” you scoff. “Reiner was chasing me, and he shot you. He’s even haunting my dreams now, I wonder whether I’ll ever truly be free from him.” 

Levi rolls his eyes, “a brute like him wouldn’t stand a chance against me.” 

“My subconscious disagrees.” 

He clicks his tongue in disapproval but can sense that now’s not the time for the usual back and forth you might engage in. You hadn’t spoken since your spat at the cafe yesterday but the fact he came to check on you warms you, even if it was because he thought you were having some kind of perverted dream. 

“You can go now.” 

“Tch.” Levi clicks his tongue again, “are you annoyed with me? I didn’t mean to upset you earlier.”

“I’m not upset, or annoyed.” 

“Then why do you want me to leave?”

“Levi, you’re in my room.”

“I’m well aware of my location.” 

You inhale sharply, what was he playing at? Your mind runs rampant at the idea Levi had come to your bedside thinking you were having a sex dream about him. Despite the fact you were a sweaty mess, you knew that if he were to make a move, your body would betray you and welcome him into your bed. Eventually, you relax and manage to look up at him. You can see the cogs turning in his head and wonder whether he was thinking the same. 

Much to your displeasure, he doesn’t fully entertain the notion. He chuckles and runs a hand up your arm, clearly satisfied by the goosebumps he feels as a result. You stay still and as he leans in, your breath catches in your throat. This amuses him further.

“Good night, Violet.” He whispers with a smirk, inches from your ear, before swiftly getting up and leaving your room. 

You curse him aloud, without caring that he can probably hear. You slump back against your pillows in frustration, reaching an arm across to plunge yourself back into darkness. You weren’t sure what kind of game Levi was playing, but you’d get him back for that.

…

The next morning, you enjoy a luxury breakfast of eggs and bacon with Hange and Armin. There was always some sort of activity going on at HQ; Sasha and Connie had been sent on a messenger mission this morning, Levi and Erwin were probably upstairs plotting in the Commander’s office. 

“When do you think the Commander will want to meet up with the Resistance?” You ask Hange as you spoon a second serving of scrambled egg onto your plate. 

“The day after tomorrow, I’d imagine.” She nods, “I think he and the Captain will want to be sure they’ve poured over every detail of the intelligence before we go ahead.” 

“I should probably go alone at first, find out who’s left. They won’t like it if I bring you all the first time.” 

“I’ll let the Commander know,” Hange giggles. “Though, I don’t think Levi will let you go alone.” 

Armin gives her a warning nudge in the ribs, though it only serves to amplify her amusement. You just roll your eyes, not wishing to entertain the idea with Levi’s subordinates, no matter how close they were.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease.” The look on her face tells you she’s enjoying this more than she should be, “it’s just not often we get to see Levi like this.”

“I really don’t know what you mean,” you sigh, knitting your brows in genuine confusion. Hange was clearly seeing something you weren’t, that or she was privy to some information you were not. “Has he said something to you?”

Hange shakes her head vigorously, filling her mouth with toast in an attempt to muffle the laugh bubbling up her throat.

“Ignore her,” Armin chimes in, a note of disapproval to his voice. “She’s being ridiculous, as always.” 

You brush it off; mission breaks like the one you were currently enjoying must be a boring for experienced operatives like Hange, she was probably just seeking some entertainment. 

“Whatever,” you shrug. “So, how did you guys become SOE agents?” 

“Brains’ story is much more interesting than mine,” Hange answers. “I worked as an assistant at the Ministry of Defence before SOE was created, my senior put me forward for a role.” 

“That’s impressive, given you’re a woman.”

Hange raises a brow, “women make excellent undercover operatives, Reader. Most men are too stupid to even suspect we are spying on them.” 

“She’s being modest,” Armin interjects. “She won a chemistry award at university, got a research grant and headed up the chemical explosives unit at MOD. She was hand picked for our unit.” 

“You flatter me!” Hange raises a hand to her chest. “Brains here was scouted at oxford, he can crack any code. He may be young, but he’s the smartest person I know.”

“I like maths,” Armin grins, a faint blush flashes across his cheeks. “Numbers, sequences, algorithms. It fascinates me, I wrote a thesis on the use of codes by the British Military in the Great War. It must have piqued someone at SOE’s interest because I was recruited straight after graduation.”

“That’s amazing, Armin!” You gush, “you guys really are incredible.” 

“That they are.” Comes the booming voice of the Commander from the doorway, “I hope you’ve left me some breakfast.” 

“Of course, Commander. Please help yourself.” Armin gestures to the spread at the table, thankfully, your second helping hadn’t made much of a dent in the pile of eggs still steaming. 

“What would we do without your culinary skills, ay Corporal Artlert.” Erwin bellows, retrieving himself a plate from the cupboard and taking his seat at the head of the table. 

Mealtimes at HQ were an interesting affair, though the hierarchy between agents was clear, Erwin came across more relaxed when eating with his comrades.

“How are you doing, Ms. Reader?” 

“I am well thank you, Commander.” You smile sweetly, “I really appreciate your hospitality.” 

“You may address me as Erwin, if you’d like.” He chuckles, “you are not officially my subordinate.” 

“Right, sorry.” You blush, Hange gives you the eyes from across the table, urging you to inform the Commander of your plans. “There’s something that’s been on my mind.”

“Speak freely.” 

“It would be best for me to approach the Resistance alone at first, Sir.” You’re a little nervous to speak so candidly, but Erwin gestures for you to continue. “I’m sure you know how cautious they are, I know how to get in contact with them but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us all to turn up at their door without warning.”

“Very well, Ms. Reader.” He nods, “you may go this afternoon, if you wish.” 

“Thank you, Sir. I won’t let you down.” 

“I’m sure that you wont, be sure to inform the Captain, he’ll accompany you.” 

Hange’s snigger doesn’t go unnoticed by you, or the Commander, who glares a warning in her direction. She excuses herself, Armin scurries off behind her. An awkward silence descends on the table as Erwin tucks into his breakfast, you don’t want to leave him to eat alone, that would be rude.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, how long have you been in the military?” 

“Since I was 16, I joined the marines straight out of school. I was recruited into covert operations after I completed basic training and have worked in the field ever since.” 

“How long have you known Levi?” It feels a little uncomfortable to ask, but Erwin doesn’t seem phased.

“Too long,” he chuckles. “He’s been my right hand since before SOE was born. I trust him with my life.” 

“Hange said the same,” you grin, resting your chin in your palm. 

“That speaks of his character. He’s loyal, intelligent, brave. I couldn’t ask any more of him, I do not accept a mission unless Captain Levi is at my side.” Your heart swells a little hearing Erwin speak of Levi, only confirming the values you’d grown to associate with him. “He’s had a difficult life, I am partially responsible for the burden he carries.” 

“I’m sure he doesn’t blame you, Sir.” 

“Of course not, that’s not in his nature.” Erwin counters, “but that doesn’t make it any less true.” 

You hum, ready to inform the Commander that you can tell Levi thinks highly of him too but you’re not given the chance, for Erwin’s eyes shift to the doorway.

“Speak of the Devil and he shall appear!” He chuckles, “were your ears burning, Levi?”

Levi grumbles something under his breath and takes a seat opposite you at the table. 

“Do you always have to make such a mess?” He mutters, gesturing to the crumbs surrounding your plate.

You offer the Commander an awkward smile.

“Leave the girl alone, Levi.” He scolds, “not everyone holds your ridiculously high standards for cleanliness.” 

“The world would be a better place if they did.” The Captain counters, piling his own plate with the last of Armin’s spread. 

You take your cue to excuse yourself and are sure to clear the empty plates as you go. You wash up too, not wanting to further aggravate Levi. You daren’t look at him, still feeling a little flustered from the night before. 

As you attempt to take your leave, Erwin calls you to the table. 

“Levi, you will accompany Ms. Reader to make contact with the Resistance this afternoon.” He orders, switching back to his Commander voice. “You’re to wait a safe distance away, we need this to go well.”

“Sir.” Levi nods.

Erwin then waves you away, “you may go.” 

You scurry upstairs to the safety of your room, a scandalous plot formulating in your mind. You were a little surprised at your brazenness but you desperately wanted to pay Levi back for embarrassing you last night. He could deny his feelings for you all he wanted, but he wouldn’t get away with teasing you, two could play that game. 

You hear him and Erwin come up the stairs and the sound of his bedroom door opening and closing. The layout of the second floor worked to your advantage, Levi’s room was situated in-between your own and the bathroom. Dressed in only your robe, you skip across the hallway and lie in wait by bathroom door, snickering to yourself at your unashamed attempt at baiting him. When his door opens and Levi appears, towel in hand, you lean against the doorway, a slither of thigh on show.

You bat your lashes playfully, fingers resting on the knot at your waist. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to use the bathroom?”

Levi’s eyes scan your face, your exposed collarbones, then down to your waist and finally, to your thigh. You see him swallow and mentally high five yourself. 

“What are you playing at, brat.” He grumbles, eyes narrowing now that they’ve moved back to your face.

“What ever do you mean?” You play coy, gently pulling at the knot of your robe.

Levi’s eyes widen in disbelief, he’d underestimated you. He clears his throat and averts his gaze, “I’ll use the downstairs bathroom.” 

“Mhm,” you raise a brow and pull the cheekiest grin in your locker.

Levi storms downstairs, you poke out your tongue once his back is turned, satisfied by what you considered a win in the little war he’d unknowingly started. You take your time getting ready, pulling on a dress that hugs your figure nicely and pinning your hair back. Levi was waiting in the kitchen, he scolds you for taking your time before escorting you out of HQ. 

“Where too?”

“Boulangerie de la fleurs.”

“Right,” Levi huffs, sounding unsure. 

You lead the way, it was Levi’s turn to follow and you were enjoying the mini power trip. Once you reach the end of the boulevard, you instruct Levi to wait outside, he does as he’s told, albeit reluctantly. 

The bell above the door dings as you enter, the smell of freshly baked bread fills your nose. You hadn’t been here in five years, you hoped you weren’t about to make yourself look stupid by reciting the code your Father had burnt into your memory. 

“Good afternoon!” You greet the owner in French, he was an elderly man with kind eyes, you don’t recognise him.

“How can I help you, Miss?”

“I’d like a loaf of olive bread, please Sir.” 

The mans eyes widen, just a little, sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“Green or black?” He asks cautiously.

“Green, please.” You nod, he smiles. “The black ones are too salty for me.”

The man exhales deeply, “my god. I haven’t heard that order in a very long time.” 

“I haven’t been in Paris for a very long time,” you grin. 

The man scribbles something on a piece of receipt paper before handing it over the counter. 

“Long live the resistance.” He whispers. 

You wave goodbye and skip along the street to rejoin Levi, who’s leaning up against a street lamp a few doors down.

“Let’s go.” You gesture him to follow.

You didn’t recognise the address you’d been given, they must have moved since the last time you’d been in Paris. You knew the street name, it was a short walk from the bakery, located down a quiet side road behind a row of luxury shops. Levi seems hesitant to leave your side when you tell him to wait at the end of the street.

You scowl at him, “I’ll be fine.” 

“I know,” he speaks through gritted teeth. “15 minutes or I’m coming in after you.” 

“20,” you bargain. 

Levi waves a hand and shoos you away.

You’re not sure what to expect when you knock at the wooden door, painted black, but as it swings open to reveal a familiar face, you practically rugby tackle the boy to the ground.

“Eren!!” You squeal, “is that you? My, you have grown!” 

“Violet, oh my god!” He breathes once you’ve untangled yourself from his neck, “we thought you were dead! It’s so good to see you!”

He pulls you back in for a second embrace. He was a few years younger than you but now towered over you, his once lean frame had filled out and he’d let his hair grow, styled in a bun at the back of his head. You remembered him as a child, chasing you and the older kids around, throwing tantrums whenever you didn’t let him join in your games. You felt a tear prick your eye as the memories came flooding back, the last time you’d seen him you were 17. His Father had died on a recon mission in Toulouse and so Eren moved away from St. Jacques, to the centre of Paris, to work with the Resistance leaders. 

“What are you doing here? Where have you been? How long have you been in Paris?” The questions fall from his mouth at speed, it makes you chuckle.

“I’ll tell you everything,” you assure him. “First, I need to speak to whoever’s in charge.”

“Right,” he nods, leading the way upstairs. 

You greet a few people on the way, though you don’t recognise any of them. You’d visited a few times before but it had been at least three years since you’d last been to central Paris. You rarely interacted with the main branch of the Resistance, your Father had operated under his own arm in which he was leader. Eren knocks on a door you assume to be the main office, you wait patiently before being admitted by a dark haired girl with a sullen expression.

“Violet, this is Mikasa.” Eren introduces the two of you, “she’s been with us for a while now.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you smile and take her extended hand, her grip is firm.

“Likewise,” she nods, standing aside so you can enter.

The room is large, with two sofas covered in a lairy floral pattern and a wide bookcase, filled to the brim. Sat on one sofa is a man you’ve known all your life, immediately, all the tension in your shoulders dissipates.

“By the grace of God,” Pyxis gets to his feet, opening his arms. “Violet Reader, as I live and breathe!”

You rush into his arms, breathing in the familiar smell of tobacco and sandalwood. Dot Pyxis, one of your Father’s most trusted friends. You considered him like an Uncle, the daft old man, how did he manage to worm his way into the central branch?

“It’s good to see you,” you breathe into his shirt. 

“And you, my child, please sit.” He gestures to the sofa opposite, “tell me everything.”

“I don’t have long,” you exhale. “I’ll tell you what I can but my babysitter will be terribly angry if I keep him waiting.”

Pyxis scoffs, “you always were in a hurry.” 

“You won’t believe the year I’ve had,” your voice wobbles a little but you steady yourself. Pyxis lights a cigar and leans back on the sofa. “I was taken prisoner by the Soviets, after they killed Father. I managed to escape, with the help of my new friends.”

“Friends?” 

“British Special Operations Executive,” you eye Pyxis’ reaction, he just raises a brow. “Apparently, the French government signed a treaty with Britain, the US and Canada, as well as some of the other unoccupied European states. They’re mobilising as we speak to help push the Cranks back but in the meantime, undercover operatives have been sent here to help. We stole some intelligence from the Camp and made our way back here, they’ve asked me to facilitate a meeting so we can work together.” 

“We?” 

You roll your eyes, “I would be dead if it weren’t for them, I trust them.” 

Pyxis takes a long drag from his cigar. 

“Very well,” he exhales the words along with a cloud of smoke. “I suppose we owe them as much, given that they helped you.” 

“Thank you. I assure you, they share the same goals as us. If we work together, we really can make a difference.”

“Mikasa,” he calls, the dark haired girl appears immediately from behind the door. “Gather everyone, we’ll hold a meeting with the Brits tomorrow evening. Make sure the cellar is stocked with booze, get Eren to help you. We must celebrate Violet’s return, as well as a potential new partnership.” Mikasa nods and disappears once more. “I must warn you Violet, I won’t be bossed around by them.”

“Of course not, any partnership would be built on equal footing.” 

“Rightly so.” Pyxis nods, he was an eccentric old man but he was smart. He knew as well as you did that collaborating was the correct move. “I’ll take your word for it my girl, if you trust them, so do I. Unless I’m given reason not to.” 

You nod and glance at the clock. “I must be going, we shall catch up more tomorrow, I promise.” 

“You stay safe, I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll share a bottle of wine and you can tell me everything that’s happened.” 

…

You feel on top of the world; you’d expected a little resistance - pardon the pun - from Pyxis, but it seemed he was just grateful to see you alive. As you were him. 

You find a scowling Levi hovering a few doors down, you’re in too good of a mood to tell him off.

“Mission success,” you beam at him.

“Good job,” he nods. The two of you begin strolling lazily down the boulevard towards HQ. “Did you know anyone there?”

“Yes, one of my Father’s closest friends seems to be in charge now. And Eren was there too, he used to follow me around all the time as a kid, I can’t believe he’s here.”

“That’s good,” Levi hums. 

Neither of you are in a rush to get back. Your interactions over the past two days had been up and down, from arguing to flirting. You couldn’t deny that the dynamic had become more exciting, but you were still disappointed that Levi wouldn’t open his heart to you. You understood his reasons but it had hurt your feelings to discover that you weren’t enough to make him change course. You were sure that he felt as you did; the two of you had survived together, met under the most strange of circumstances, as though it was meant to be. A fanciful thought, but the hopeless romantic within you wished it to be true. 

You didn’t notice the rain at first but the initial raindrops in your hair quickly turned into a torrential down pour. You hasten your pace but there’s no escaping the storm. Your coat does well to keep your dress dry but it’s not waterproof. 

As you wait to cross the street, an impatient driver careers through a puddle, sending a tidal wave in your direction and completely drenching you through to the skin. You stand still for a moment, blinking in disbelief. 

You turn to Levi and you’re glad that you did, because the smile on his face was absolutely gorgeous.

And then he laughed. Not a half smirk, or a stifled chuckle. He threw his head back and actually laughed, one hand clamped over his stomach. 

You watch him in awe, drinking in the rare sight of the man who’d stolen your heart laughing at your misfortune. You can’t help but join in, why not? You’d be soaked by the time you got home anyway, at least you got the chance to share in this moment of humility. He collects himself after a while, clearing his throat and adjusting his cap. 

“Come on,” he takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’ll catch a cold.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New characters!!! Exciting!!! I literally love Pyxis, he's one of my favourite AOT characters lol - bit pissed off we had no Levi in yesterday's episode so I thought I'd deliver you all a chapter of my Levi instead...
> 
> How are we feeling about the OUTRAGEOUS flirting between Reader and Levi?!! (Sarcasm)
> 
> Sorry, I know I have kept this story very PG so far, but given their circumstances, it would be difficult for things to get steamy. Be patient :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I appreciate it so much! 
> 
> You can find me posting nonsense on tumblr: findingviolet. 
> 
> <3


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